


Crashing Into Us

by shitfanficmeup



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Androids (Detroit: Become Human), Amputation, Anger, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Car Accidents, Chronic Pain, Connor Deserves Happiness, Depressed Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Depressed Hank Anderson, Drunk Hank Anderson, Forgiveness, Hank Anderson Deserves Happiness, Homelessness, M/M, Medical Trauma, Mentioned Cole Anderson, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Therapy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-10-10 01:31:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17416427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shitfanficmeup/pseuds/shitfanficmeup
Summary: When Hank Anderson lost his son three years ago in a car accident, he cursed the person who hit them but after Cole died, he was too depressed (and too drunk) to give them a second thought.Three years later; stuck in the same Lieutenant's position with a drinking problem, Hank never thought he'd meet the person who ruined his life, he never thought that he'd feel bad for them.But when he finally does meet Connor... he never for a second thought he'd fall for him.





	1. Bar Meetings

Sitting on his usual barstool, Hank Anderson ordered his second whiskey of the night. At only eight at night on a Wednesday it was still a bit early for him to be hitting the bottle hard but with the anniversary of his son, Cole’s death rapidly approaching in the next few weeks it became easier and easier for the Black Lamb to flow down his throat.

The memories still so vivid in his mind, overtook his senses; the cold wind could be heard outside the windows as the snow started to pile up. The afternoon sun was starting to fade against the horizon but still illuminated their front yard, the ice was visible on the grass and on the dash of Hank's car. Yelling down the hall, Hank called, “Cole, make sure you grab your jacket!”

His son’s chirpy answer of, “My G.I Joe needs a jacket too!” made Hank smile. Between being dragged back and forth to Hank and his ex-wife’s house, Cole’s smile never faltered. He was a happy kid. He was warm and loving and kind. He was everything Hank knew he still would be if he was still here.

Joanne just needed to have Cole that night. She needed to inconvenience Hank. She needed to interrupt their time together. She demanded that Hank drove Cole the forty-five minutes to her house even though the news channels were warning against icy road conditions.

No matter how carefully he drove, nothing could stop what happened next. The headlights blinded him before Hank could even react. The large red truck, that was completely out of control, slammed into Hank’s back seat; resulting in his car flipping three times before finally stopping on its side.

Shattered glass, steam, smoke, and screams. The flashing lights and crushed metal. Cole’s screams. He screamed and screamed for his daddy, for help. He screamed that it hurt. Hank tried to move but he was stuck. He couldn’t help his son. The feeling of helplessness completely overrode the pain stabbing into his neck, back, and side. God, he should have helped. Fuck… it never should have happened…

Before the tears could start, Hank killed the pain with a big swallow of his whiskey. As he battled with his own head, a young man from a table in the back of the bar walked over to near where he was sitting. As he walked, it was clear his gate was hitched and painful. His slightly too long hair was a little curled, it looked like it had been neatly shaved on the sides recently and needed to be again soon. As he leaned his forearms on the bar, his bangs fell into his face. The bartender and owner, Jimmy, walked over and addressed the young kid, “Another whiskey, Connor?”

Nodding, he quietly answered, “Please.” His voice was small and reserved, his clothes were tattered and old. Lifting his head, Hank glanced at the stranger and said, “Young kid like you shouldn’t be drinking to forget this early on a weekday.”

The sad laugh that escaped Connor’s lips struck Hank in the chest but his reply was worse, “Wish I wasn’t.” Hank always drank alone but Connor looked so damn sad and Hank couldn’t bear to see such a young kid go down the same path as him. Patting the seat next to him, Hank grunted, “Sit.”

Now with company, Hank waited until Connor had another glass of whiskey in front of him before asking, “So, why are you drinking?”

He wasn’t expecting Connor to get defensive and aggressively stare at him directly in the eye before biting back, “Why are you?” Not being one to back down from a challenge, Hank just smirked, “I asked first.”

The smile of his face quickly died when Connor’s voice turned sad and almost venomous. His deep brown eyes seemed to fade out and go to a different place, “My life fucking ended three years ago.”

The trueness of that statement struck Hank to his core but he stayed in his role of therapist, “What happened?”

After downing half his drink, Connor took a deep breath to try and compose himself. It didn’t seem to work so he finished his drink and stared into the empty glass, “It was a car accident... my father hit a sheet of ice, after hitting another car, he slammed into a barrier. My father…he …died on impact…and my leg was so badly hurt they had to amputate it.” Hank’s blue eyes bore holes into the side of Connor’s face as his heart broke. Connor continued, ignoring his own voice breaking, “I dropped out of college. Been living on the street, just trying to get by. It’s hard to keep a job when you can’t function.”

Finishing his own drink, Hank shook his head; angry at the world, “Shit, that’s rough.”

Starting to regret opening up to a complete stranger, Connor started to close up again, apologizing, “Not to dump all my issues on you.” He bit his tongue, trying to stop the alcohol from letting the truth slip out.

After silently ordering them another round, Hank brushed off the apology, “Nah, I asked.” Sitting in silence, they drank their whiskey and sat in the atmosphere of stale beer, dim lights, and murmurs of conversations. That’s when it fucking hit Hank. It hit him like a truck.

“What day was the accident?”

Connor looked over at Hank with a confused face; his eyes squinted and mouth twisted, “What? Why?”

Hank couldn’t help the anger, “What fucking day was the accident?” God, as hard as he tried, he couldn’t stop it.

Not knowing why Hank was asking, Connor decided the truth was the best choice, “October 11th…”

No amount of alcohol could have softened the blow. Nothing could have. Nothing. This was the truth. “You hit my car. My son was taken into surgery but he died that night. He had just turned six.”

Connor stared at Hank with a horrified expression on his face. He jumped up, nearly falling over but fear and shock keeping him moving. Apologies rushed out of his mouth, “Oh my god… I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry.”

Connor’s feet started to run. This was the person they hit. This was their fault. This person, this kind man; his life was destroyed because of them.

Hank wanted to go after Connor but he couldn’t move his feet. He couldn’t call after him. All he could do was order another drink.


	2. Frozen Hope

While patrolling in his cruiser three days later, the pouring rain had turned to sleet as the howling wind drove it down hard. The temperature was barely above fifteen degrees; freezing for only being the beginning of October.

During his rounds of the downtown, Hank spotted some fucking idiot lying outside on a bench getting completely soaked. Pulling over, Hank put his cruiser in park and zipped up his heavy jacket before braving the cold. He walked over to the sleeping figure before quickly realizing it was the same young man from the bar. Instantly, Hank wanted to walk away. It’s not his problem. He wasn’t his problem.

But the way Connor shivered, the way his fingers and lips were red and turning blue… there was no way Hank could morally or legally leave him there, no matter who he was. Roughly shaking Connor’s shoulder, Hank grunted, “Hey, wake up.”

With a hand on him, Hank could really feel just how hard the kid was shaking. In response to the initial shake, Connor barely mumbled back. Forcing himself to stay in police officer mode, Hank checked Connor’s pulse; it was weak and hard to feel without pushing down hard onto his thin wrist. Again, Hank jostled him, “Come on, kid. It’s too cold out here. Wake up.”

This time when Connor mumbled, Hank decided he was done with freezing his own ass off as he heaved Connor to his feet before slinging his tattered black and green backpack over his shoulder.

Trying to ignore the pang of sympathy in his chest when he felt the limp against his side. Quickly pushing it down, he opened up the back door of his cruiser and deposited a soaking wet Connor in the back seat along with his bag.

With the unconscious stranger laying against the door, Hank considered bringing him to the nearest hospital and leaving him there but doubting he had health insurance to pay for the bills, Hank chose to bring him to his house but not before calling Captain Jeffery Fowler at the DPD, “Captain, something came up. I’ll fill you in tomorrow… Yeah, everything is fine.” Glancing into the rearview mirror, he didn’t believe that for a second.

Once they were at Hank’s, the Lieutenant now had to walk through the front door, push his ginormous St. Bernard back, and drag Connor with him. After dropping Connor’s still half-unconscious body on his couch, he grabbed Sumo’s collar before the large dog could jump all over the small kid, “Sumo, for Christ’s sake, hang on a second.” Hank let the fluff ball outside to do his business before going back inside and staring at Connor who was slack-faced and soaking wet and for some reason on his couch?

Without being too careful, Hank tugged off Connor’s completely soaked black canvas jacket before kneeling on the floor, his old knees protesting none the less. On the floor, Connor’s shoes and socks were stripped off. Purposely avoiding Connor’s prosthesis to avoid any feelings of sympathy, Hank went into his room to retrieve an old, thick sweater and sweat pants that he brought out to the still half-awake stranger and tossed in his lap, “Get changed.”

With just a grunt in reply, Connor thin, purple and shaking fingers closed around the thick fabric. Hearing whoever was talking to him walk away and rummage around somewhere away from him, Connor slowly pulled off his soaked jeans and put on what felt like well-worn and too-big sweatpants.

After that, he took off his shirt but he couldn’t seem to make his arms move anymore before hearing a vaguely familiar voice bark, “Hey! Get changed!”

Somewhat sluggishly he pulled on the thick wool sweater and sat in silence as he waited for… well… he wasn’t quite sure. In fact, he wasn’t one hundred percent sure where he was or who he was with. All Connor knew is he was in a warm house, was wearing dry clothes, and suddenly he was being covered with a blanket with a warm mug of soup shoved into his cold hands.

From his old recliner, Hank watched Connor eat the chicken soup with cold blue eyes. He was feeding the person who killed his son. He killed Cole. He killed Cole. He killed Cole. He killed Cole. He killed Cole. He killed Cole.

Hank wasn’t even sure if Connor was done before he stood up and grabbed the mug away from him. He turned off the lights before throwing Connor’s clothes in the dryer and going back into the living room and getting settled for the night in the recliner because there was no way he was leaving this stranger alone in his house.

While Hank didn’t sleep through the night, Connor also slept fitfully; tossing and turning, flinching, mumbling, groaning, sitting up, laying back down. Thankfully, they both managed to get some rest by the morning.

When Hank woke up in the morning and got ready for work, Connor was still asleep so Hank shook his shoulder until he was greeted with wide, terrified brown eyes. Instantly panicking, Connor sat straight up and started to profusely apologize. Finally, he realized just where he was. He was in the man from the bar’s house. Why was he here?! He ruined this poor man’s family.

Reaching out, Hank roughly grabbed Connor’s shaking shoulders and yelled, “Just stop! Take a fucking deep breath.”

With his mind still going a million miles a minute, Connor finally realized that he wasn’t in his usual clothes. He looked down and subconsciously touched his residual, “You didn’t… my clothes…”

Thankfully, Hank seemed to know exactly what had Connor worried, “You changed yourself. I didn’t see anything.”

“…Thank you.” Connor nodded and watched as Hank walked into the kitchen and made himself a coffee… ignoring the fair amount of whiskey that was poured into it.

Taking a large sip of his coffee of choice, Hank gruffly grunted, “Yeah well… you would have died out there and as a cop, I couldn’t have let that happen.”

Tensing, Connor started to stand, “I appreciate it so I’ll get out of your way…”

But Hank quickly stopped him, “Wait! Can I ask you something?” Hank didn’t want to talk to this kid but he needed to ask him something; something he’s been wondering for years. “Where were you going that night?”

Connor rested his elbows on his knees and ran his hands through his hair, “My dad and I were coming home from visiting my grandparents.” They sat in silence for a few moments before Connor spoke up, “Am I allowed to ask you a question? What’s your name?”

Hank almost let himself laugh because of course he would tell his worst story to a stranger and bring them into his house without telling them his name, “Hank Anderson.”

Without meeting his eyes, Connor replied, “Connor Stern.”

Hank left the room one more time before coming back holding a few things; Connor’s dry clothes, fifty bucks, and an old black knit hat. After handing everything to Connor, Hank told him to keep the clothes he had on but to get up because “I have to go to work. I’ll give you a ride somewhere.”

While Connor collected his things and snuck an ear scratch to Hank’s big dog that was intently listening from his spot on the floor, he shyly said, “Thank you… for everything.”

Keeping up his gruff exterior, Hank walked towards the front door and grabbed the keys to the cruiser, “Just get in the car.”

“Where to?” Hank asked once they were both seated. He thought he knew the answer and sure enough, he was right.

“Wherever I was yesterday.” Connor sounded ashamed that he didn’t have anywhere to go but almost accepting of the fact that this was just the way things were.

Not wanting to do this shit again, Hank scoffed as he started the cruiser and pulled out of the driveway, “What? So, you can freeze again? No. What about the shelter?” Referencing to the shelter in the middle of the city; it was nice enough and served its purpose, helping many people who desperately needed housing and food. There was just one problem.

“…I’m not allowed back there.”

Great. Awesome. Totally not completely unamused. However, being a Lieutenant has its perks, “There’s a small shelter across town where we bring people who don’t really want to be found.” Hank was already driving in the direction of the seemingly uninteresting small red brick building on the outskirts of the city.

When they arrive, Hank walked inside with them where they were greeted by a young man with a warm smile and two different color eyes. Extending a hand towards Hank, they greeted each other, “Nice to see you, Lieutenant Anderson.”

For the first time, Connor saw Hank smile, it made his heart hurt in a way he couldn’t describe; how much did he smile before the accident, how much brighter was it? Now he was stuck with half-hearted smiles in shelters with strangers, “Hey, Markus. This is Connor. He needs a place to stay for a bit.”

With Markus turning his attention towards Connor with an open hand, “Of course. Why don’t we go have a chat?” Hank started to head out.

He noncommittally waved over his shoulder and called, “Good luck. Thanks.”

As Markus and Connor sat across from each other, they did what anyone does when they meet like this; they spent a few moments of silence sizing each other up. After a while, Markus relaxed back into his seat, smiling, “Welcome to Jericho.”


	3. Jericho

“This is not a public shelter, the police bring us people who need protection. We have a few rules; you’re free to come and go as you please, this is not a jail. However, unless you have explicit permission to enter another resident's room you are not allowed to. The other rules are; no violence of any kind, verbal or physical. This is a safe place. No stealing, no destruction of property. You have three chances, then you will be kicked out.” As Markus explained the rules of the shelter, Connor nodded and took the paperwork he was handed.

Once everything was signed, Markus started to show Connor around; starting in the small kitchen that had a large table in it with ten chairs around it. The kitchen was painted a pale green color with an old white fridge, stove, and dishwasher. The tiles were black and white checkered; that tile ran into a carpeted room with a big old couch and a few recliners all facing a decent sized TV.

Fiddling with the TV was a young guy with blonde hair and a blue sweater. Markus smiled when he saw the fit man and called out, “Simon!” When he turned around, Connor saw his blue eyes and light cheeks. Markus introduced them, “This is Connor, he’s going to be staying with us for a bit. Lieutenant Anderson brought him by this morning.”

The man, Simon, outstretched his hand and offered Connor a friendly smile, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Fighting through his fear of being judged by new people, Connor smiled back, “Nice to meet you too.”

Continuing through their tour Markus started to show him the rooms. Down the hall, Markus’s room was first and Connor learned that he and Simon shared a room as they were together. Next to them on the same side of the hall was North, a feisty girl who apparently has a hidden heart of gold. The last room on the right side of the hall was Josh, a kind man had gotten the nickname of ‘peacekeeper’.

On the other side of the hall was the large bedroom shared by a couple Kara and Luther and Kara’s adopted daughter, Alice. There were two empty bedrooms one of which was now for Connor. It had a full sized bed on it with grey sheets and a plain black comforter. The dresser was small and it had a couple of towels and a few toiletries. It was the closest thing Connor has had to a home in years.

Standing in shock that he had a warm place to lay his head, Connor half listened as Markus talked, “Bathrooms and showers are at the end of the hall. We usually try to eat breakfast and dinner together and get to bed by eleven so we aren’t keeping each other up. Also, keep your messes clean and when you can we do expect you to pay rent.”

Finally, turning around to face Markus, Connor tried to find the right words, “Of course, I will as soon as I can. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

Markus left him to get settled but there was one thing Connor desperately wanted to do. He wanted to shower; he wanted to wash the feeling of dirt and the deeper feeling of exhaustion from his body. Grabbing his backpack, a towel, a bottle of body wash that was in his room, Connor headed down the hall. In one of the empty shower rooms, Connor sat on the bench and stripped off his clothes and wrapped the towel around his bare hips before sitting back down. Grabbing the prosthesis by the socket and pulled it off, followed by the liner that was getting old and needed to be washed and changed.

His residual, which was his right leg, was sore and red in spots due to his ill-fitting prosthetic. It was so old and after his almost twenty-pound weight loss, it definitely did not fit him correctly. Leaning against the wall of the shower, Connor used his balance to hop into the shower. Once he was in the shower, Connor draped his towel over the railing and turned on the hot water. As he leaned against the clean wall, he let the steaming hot water wash away all the stress of the last couple days.

After the refreshing shower, Connor completely dried off and hopped back over to the bench. Reaching into his bag he pulled out a clean pair of boxers and the oversized sweater that Hank gave him.

Opting not to put his leg on, Connor used the wall to help him walk the few feet to his bedroom. Welcoming the comfortable give of the mattress, Connor propped his two pillows up against the wall and started reading a book he always kept with him.

After reading for a while he didn’t hear his door click open but he did her the small voice chirp, “What happened to your leg?”

Connor dropped his book and instantly tried to cover what remained of his right leg but to no avail. Instead, he just stared at her and floundered with his words, “I was in an accident… I got hurt…”

She stared back at him with wide brown eyes and quickly ran away. Instead of staying away like Connor was sure she would have, she came sprinting back into the room holding a Hello Kitty band-aid.

With all the care of an angel, she placed it on Connor’s rough looking scar and smiled, “It will feel better now.” Pushing down the feeling of overwhelming self-consciousness, Connor smiled back, “You much be Alice. I’m Connor.”

Clearly feeling comfortable in her striped tights and green t-shirt with a cute graphic design heart on it, Alice jumped up onto the bed and questioned, “What are you reading?”

Connor picked up his forgotten book and handed it to the child sitting across from him, “Les Misérables, it’s not really a kid’s book. Do you have a favorite book?”

Again, Alice jumped up and sprinted down the hall with seemingly boundless energy. This time when she returned she had a copy of ‘Alice in Wonderland’ with her.

Connor couldn’t help but laugh at her choice of favorite book. He listened as she clutched it close to her chest and started to talk about it, “Kara and Luther read it to me because I’m not great at reading but they’re at work right now.”

As if Connor couldn’t catch that hint, “Want me to read you some?” If he was being honest, Connor had always been good with kids. They always got along with each other but since the accident, he hadn't seen any of his family members including his young cousins. Which meant no more days playing outside or making up stories together. Maybe when he gets to a better place be should reach out to them... maybe.

Alice all but threw the book at him and quickly found a spot next to him so she could listen to the story. Connor started to read in a soothing voice, making sure to slightly change his tone for different characters. Halfway through their story time, he stopped caring that somebody was seeing him without his prosthetic on.

The fun bubble they created was interrupted with a woman calling out, “Alice?!” Alice answered her so the woman came into Connor’s room with a clearly confused look on her face. She was instantly defensive about the young girl she saw as a daughter with a stranger. Going into mommy mode, she immediately addressed Connor, “Who are you?”

Trying to seem unthreatening, he smiled at the woman with short brown hair and a waitress’ uniform on; it was clear she had a long day at work and needed to relax. Trying to ease her mind, he helped Alice up, “I’m Connor, I’m new here.”

“I’m Kara, Alice’s adoptive mother.” Taking Alice’s hand in hers, Kara subconsciously pulled her close, “Come on, Alice. Let’s clean up for dinner. Connor, dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes.”

After they left, Connor put his prosthetic back on along with real pants and made his way out to the dining room. In the kitchen, Simon was busy filling everyone’s bowls with a warm chili along with fresh cornbread. Connor made himself busy meeting everybody he didn’t get the chance to meet earlier. Everybody is nice enough, if not a little closed off but that’s to be expected. Alice is a ray of sunshine, happily beaming about how Connor read to her earlier.

Luther nodded Connor a thank you across the table before Alice asked, “Can we draw after dinner?”

Ignoring North’s uncalled-for and sarcastic snicker, Kara answered Alice, “If Connor wants to.” But everyone knows that there was no way he could have ever said no to her.

So of course, after dinner Kara, Luther, Alice, and Connor all found themselves in the common room with Kara and Luther sitting on the couch with Alice on the floor between them. Connor was sitting on the floor on the other side of the coffee table which is covered in Alice’s crayons, markers, and blank paper.

While Luther and Connor made somewhat awkward small-talk, Alice was busy scribbling away. When there was a lull in the conversation Connor asked Alice, “What are you drawing there, kid?”

She proudly pointed to her drawing as she described it, “That’s me and Kara and Luther and I’m drawing the house we are going to have one day!” The drawing was a cute red house drawn in crayon with blue people, a bright sun, a swing, trees, and a dog.

Kara smiled at the drawing and stroke Alice’s hair back, “Someday, sweetheart.”

Staring down at his blank sheet of paper, Connor realized he had nothing to draw; nothing to look forward to, no hopes, no dreams, no family. Needing to get away from all of this, Connor stood up and forced a smile specifically at Alice, “I think I’m going to get to bed. We’ll draw together some more tomorrow, okay?” Before addressing Kara and Luther, who had warmed up to him a bit throughout the night, "Goodnight, everybody.”

In his room, Connor removed his prosthetic and enjoyed the feeling of being able to safely sleep through the night. For the first time in a long time, he was in a warm bed, with a full stomach, and without the constant pain digging into his right thigh, Connor quickly fell asleep; too tired to dream of tires sliding on ice or shattering glass.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, sorry. Let me know your thoughts so far! <3


	4. Two Steps Back, One Step Forward

When Hank dragged his very hungover ass out of bed the next morning, he found that getting ready for work was more difficult than usual. His movements were sluggish and not even his dark black coffee with his usual kick added to it could wake him up.

The exhaustion ran bone deep, knitted into his soul, threaded through every part of his heart. Having to face another day of homicide; another day of death and fighting and struggles. Another day of being stuck in the same job, the same routine, same shit just a different day.

When Hank finally got into the station, the day only got longer with Captain Fowler calling him into his office. Sitting across from his longtime colleague and past-friend in his glass fishbowl of an office, Hank waited for Fowler to start to say whatever it was he had to say.

This time Jeffery had more of a look of concern than annoyance, “What happened the other night?”

Hank trusted Jeffery; they had been close through the academy, through Jeff’s marital issues, Cole’s death. “I met the kid who hit Cole and me.” When the Captain just stared through Hank’s admittance, he explained, “…Well, he didn’t hit us. Technically his father did, he was just in the car…”

Trying to control his emotions, Jeffery seemed at ease with the whole thing—ignoring how big of a deal it was, “So, did you guys talk for a while?” When Hank crossed his arms and offendedly huffed out a no, Jeff shook his head, “Hank, were you an asshole?”

Throwing up his arms, Hank couldn’t help but get defensive, “I have good reason to be! He killed my son!”

Jeffery knew what happened. He read the reports. He saw Hank’s car after the accident. He knew exactly what it was, “No, he didn’t and you know it. It’s okay to still be grieving but you need to be honest with yourself. It was an accident, nobody could have prevented it.”

That’s not what Hank wanted to hear. Standing, he shook his grey hair from his face and disapprovingly turned away, “We’re done.” He wanted to be angry and he wanted to be told it was okay to be angry. Logic and rational had no place in his grieving process. 

Returning to boss mode, Fowler scowled as who was supposed to be his mature, seasoned Lieutenant walked out of the office without so much as another word.

Hank got pretty much nothing done at work that day before heading home. In his small home, it was the same routine as usual; kick off his work clothes, take care of Sumo, and drink himself stupid. Only today there was something different, Hank dragged himself to Cole’s still untouched bedroom. The blues and greens of his bedroom reminded Hank of his son’s eyes; of how they shined in the warm sun when they played and laughed in the park.

As sat on his son’s small twin bed, Hank grabbed the knitted blanket his ex-mother-in-law had made for Cole. Bringing it up to his face, the familiar smell of his child shattered his resolve as the tears started to flow from his eyes. This was the time he allowed himself to cry; remembering how Cole would fall asleep clutching that blanket and dragging it around until it was covered with dirt and ratty. Hank would have to tear it away from Cole and those crying eyes and grabbing hands to put it through the washing machine.

Hearing his owner cry, Sumo came plodding in from the living room and sat in from of Hank with his heavy head on Hank’s knee. That pulled Hank out of his emotional state; starting to stroke his dog’s head he sniffled and tried to take a deep breath, “What am I doing? Cole… I left the kid there. He clearly needs help and it’s not his fault this happened to you. I just can’t forgive the people who took you away no matter what happened to them. Does that make me a horrible person?”

The silence was deafening, he knows he’ll never get his answer; Cole would never answer him, “If you were here, kiddo, you’d probably know just what to say to make an old man feel better. You know what makes it even worse? He seems like a good kid. How am I supposed to hate somebody who was at the wrong place at the wrong time and got fucked too?”

He knew he couldn’t. He can’t hate Connor. It’s not fair to him. Cole wouldn’t hate him. Hell, if anything, Cole would have liked him; he would have asked him a million questions. He always liked everybody.

As Hank passed out on Cole’s bed early that night with Sumo sleeping on guard at his feet, Connor was sitting up on his bed reading. North stuck her head into Connor’s room and pushed her red hair out of her face, “Hey, it’s dinner time.”

Acknowledging her but not jumping to get up, Connor nodded, “I’ll be there in a sec.” But he could still feel North watching him with angrier eyes than before. He looked back up at her and asked, “What?”

Putting hands on her sweatpants-clad hips, she sassed, “I said it’s dinner time.”

Usually, Connor would have no problem with jumping up and getting along with others. He wanted to be friendly but he was stuck. The shooting, pins-and-needles feeling that ran up his prosthesis. He couldn’t move but he needed to. She was waiting. She was staring.

Pushing through the pain, Connor put unsure weight on his feet and started to walk towards the hall. Apparently, his discomfort was obvious because North looked him up and down and shamelessly judged, “What’s your deal?”

Connor hated being seen as weak or different, he hated being the center of attention, he hated being looked at, “Leave me alone.”

Instead of doing that, North harshly grabbed Connor’s arm and pulled him off balance, “This is my home. Don’t give me shit, you little asshole.”

Before Connor could say anything back, Josh came walking out of the bathroom with a disapproving look on his face, “North, knock it off!”

Dropping Connor’s arm, North huffed and walked away; leaving the two men in the hallway. Josh put a sturdy and kind hand on Connor’s shoulder as they started to walk toward the kitchen. He tried to reassure Connor, “It’s not you. She’s still healing.”

Taking that for what it was, they walked into the dining area and sat down. Taking the weight off his right leg was a relief but the awkward silence that seemed to sit heavy in the room was not.

After dinner, while they were all cleaning up, Kara and Luther mentioned that they had wanted to spend some time together. Connor spoke up that he promised he would draw with Alice so he didn’t mind watching her for a while.

In Connor’s room, he and Alice both laid on their stomachs, propped up on their elbows with plenty of paper and markers spread out between them. Tonight, Alice decided to draw something… different. An angry man with a bottle in one hand and a horrible scowl on his face, he was yelling something unintelligible.

Looking up from his own drawing of a… familiar looking Saint Bernard, Connor was shocked at what he saw, “Wow… who’s that?”

Alice pushed the paper to the side and started to sketch something else on a blank piece of paper, “That’s my dad. I don’t see him anymore. He used to yell a lot… sometimes he would hit me.”

The anger that boiled in his chest was so strong, Connor never wanted to kill anybody the way he wanted to find Alice’s biological father and kill that man. He had no idea how anybody could ever hurt somebody as sweet as her. But he knew that anger is not what she needed right now, it’s also not what she would understand. Instead, Connor tried to focus on the positive, “I’m sorry but now you have Kara and Luther and they love you.”

In response, Alice smiled and nodded. Changing the subject, Connor drew a tic-tac-toe grid and placed it between them, letting Alice go first. While they played, Alice continually asked Connor questions, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Connor chuckled and shook his head, “You sure ask a lot of questions, kiddo.” After a beat of silence, Connor answered, “No, I don’t have a girlfriend. I’m gay.”

She lit up at that, “Oh! Like Markus and Simon?” When Connor nodded, Alice just smiled back and took her turn, “Cool.” All Connor could think was that kids are so much more accepting than adults.

Before they could even finish their game, Alice was already nodding off which was obviously noticeable to Connor. After letting her win, Connor started to pack up their art supplies, “Why don’t you sit on my bed? I’ll tell you a story since you don’t have your book.”

With Alice laying on Connor’s bed, already in her comfy plaid pajamas since before dinner. Connor covered her with a spare blanket and started to tell her story, “There once was a young prince but one day, the king and the prince were traveling throughout the vast lands when they were ambushed by a dragon. A few years later after being lost in the land, the prince happened upon a magnificent castle where the noble Queen Alice and all her loyal subjects resided. With a kind hand, she graciously took in the prince and they all lived happily ever after.”

As Alice’s face went slack with sleep, Connor returned to his spot on the floor where he leaned against the bed and opened his book until Luther came in a little later to scoop a still-asleep Alice up

After breakfast and a shower, Connor was helping Simon while doing some chores. While they worked together to clean out the fridge, Markus took his spot and told Connor that he had a visitor out front.

In the front room, much to Connor’s surprise, it was Hank. He tried to tuck tail and run but the Lieutenant saw him before he could. Calling from the door Hank yelled, “Nope, too late. Come here.”

Connor grunted under his breath, “Shit.” Before walking over to where Hank was standing by the front door. He stopped in front of him and tried to avoid eye contact with the man who was so imposing and attractive standing in front of him but when Hank spoke up, “You’re looking better.” It was impossible to avoid Hank’s stare.

Connor hesitantly looked up with a dusting of pink across his cheeks, “I’m feeling better. I can’t thank you enough for bringing me here.”

This time it was Hank’s turn to drop his eye and turn shy, “I’d like to maybe grab some lunch with you if you’d be up for it.” With his hands in his pockets, he fiddled with his car keys and steadily pushed them into his thigh, trying to alleviate some stress.

All the stress flooded out of him when Connor smiled at him and agreed, “That’d be nice.”

And with that and a warm jacket, they were on their way to Chicken Feed. When they got there and had warm burgers, that’s when Hank brought up the elephant at the food truck, “I’ve been blaming you for Cole’s death but the truth is that that is just wrong.”

But Connor didn’t want to be forgiven, he took Hank’s son from him. That was something he could never take back, “Still, I am so sorry. We were doing everything we could to try and be careful.”

They went back to eating in silence, stealing glances at each other while the other wasn’t looking. It was so silent that when Hank spoke up again it almost made Connor jump, “How old were you?” When Connor looked at him with a look of confusion, Hank clarified, “…when the accident happened… how old were you?”

“Twenty-two. I was a senior in college.” Connor hated talking about college. Those were his happier days; he had his father, he had friends, he was a track star, was months away from getting his degree. Then… everything changed.

But Hank had no clue about that so instead, he kept asking questions, “What were you studying?”

“Journalism and I was captain of the cross country team.” That always got looks of unwanted sympathy from people and it was no different with Hank.

The only thing worse than college was—, “Where was your mom?”

Instead of a response, Connor just shook his head which he hoped was enough of an answer. Thankfully for Hank, it was. Connor kind of expected that to be a theme. Hank answered, “Never knew my mom either.”

They returned to eating in silence until they were ready to leave. After the short ride back to Jericho, they sat idly out front while Connor stared at his hands, stuttering out a thank you.

In response, Hank shrugged it off, “Look, you can call me if you needed anything, kid.”

For the first time that whole night, Connor genuinely looked into Hank’s eyes he said, “You’re a good man, Hank.” But he seemed to mean a million other things.


	5. Flashback to the Crash

“We’ll get back to you, son.” The lawyer who owned his own small practice a few blocks away from Jericho shook Connor’s hand after a fairly successful interview for a secretary position. After all, it wouldn’t be too difficult; taking calls, booking appointments into the older lawyer’s schedule, and helping to keep the office clean.

As he walked the few blocks it took to get back to Jericho, it happened. It wasn’t horrible. But fuck, it was bad enough. The sound of the loud crash, the shattering glass, and crushing metal. The smell of smoke and anti-freeze leaking from the hood. The sight of the two cars slamming into each other was enough to have Connor completely collapse into himself.

Flashbacks of the accident. Their truck spinning out of control. Hitting… Hank and then the pain. Fuck, the horrible crushing pain in his leg. But nothing will ever compare to the pain of looking over when they finally stopping spinning, regaining consciousness and seeing his father’s already dead body laying against the steering wheel.

He couldn’t focus on anything with his father’s bloodstained face and cold-dead brown eyes staring at him. He needed to get away but the world wouldn’t stop spinning for two goddamn seconds. Racing back to the shelter, Connor’s panic only seemed to grow with every rushed step.

Finally back inside, Connor just tried to get to his room. He needed to get safe. He needed to get the images of that night out of his head but he couldn’t. Nothing could. Needed to get them out. Out. Out. Out. Out. Out. Out. Out. Out.

His panicked pacing and hair pulling was easily noticed by Alice who was excited that her new friend was back. She wanted to draw and laugh and tell stories but this Connor wasn’t who she was used to. Immediately changing, Alice stood still in Connor’s doorway and timidly called, “Connor?”

Still too lost in his own head, in his own memories, Connor punched the wall as hard as he could and cursed, “Fuck!” With that destruction not enough, he grabbed the small delicate lamp that was on the side table next to him and threw it as hard as he could against the far wall.

That was more than enough to scare away anybody, especially a sensitive girl like Alice who quickly ran to find Markus. When she did find him, her little hand quickly dragged him toward Connor’s room. Luckily, he wasn’t far as the yelling and loud crash had already grabbed his attention.

Markus asked Alice to go to her room for a little before he hesitantly walked into Connor’s room where he was still wearing tracks into the carpet. Markus tried to gently call his name but between the shaking and pacing it was obvious nothing was getting through to Connor. So the next logical step was to try and physically stop him.

When Connor felt the foreign hands around his arms, all he could remember were the hands of the EMTs and paramedics pulling him out of the wreckage. Pulling him away from his father. Connor can’t remember if he screamed or not, he must have since the hands stopped.

When Connor shoved him and screamed, Markus knew he needed back up but who to call? Connor didn’t have any emergency contacts. The only person Markus knew he could call was Lieutenant Anderson so that’s exactly what he did.

Walking far enough away that Hank couldn’t hear the shouts and curses coming from Connor. After a few rings, Hank’s gruff voice came through the line, “Markus? Everything okay over at Jericho?”

Trying to keep his voice calm, Markus explained, “Hello, Lieutenant. I hope I’m not interrupting anything, it’s Connor. He came back a little while ago and isn’t okay. He won’t talk and I didn’t know who else to call.”

From his recliner at home, Hank put his beer down and was already starting to stand up, “Okay, did you want me to come over and try to talk to him?”

Vaguely the hint of fear and worry could be heard in Markus’s reply, “Yeah, if you don’t mind. He just seems a little aggressive.”

All Hank could think was that there was no way Connor was being aggressive but if Markus felt like he needed Hank, he wasn’t about to say no. He already had his keys in his hand and one foot out the door, “I’ll be over in a minute, okay?”

Staying true to his word, Hank rushed over and let himself in. He called down the hallway, “Markus! What’s going on?”

When Markus rushed over, panic took over his usually calm demeanor. He quickly lead Hank to Connor’s room where he was still sobbing, punching the walls, pulling at his hair, and yelling about nothing in particular. Hank knew flashbacks when he saw them. Calmly walking into the room, he stood in front of Connor and tried first to gently get through to him, “Hey, kid. You okay?”

Knowing that wasn’t going to work, he sighed and grabbed Connor’s arm’s similar to how Markus did not long ago. Again, Connor fought; trying to push and shove the hands off. Only this time they didn’t let go, they only held on tighter and gently crowded him against a wall. A vaguely familiar voice was in his ear, “Stop it.” Still trying to fight for his life, Connor punched at the stranger, hitting them repeatedly in the chest and stomach; his sobs getting stuck in his throat before forcing themselves out in hiccups.

Throughout it all, the hands held on. The voice stayed as steady as the wall behind his back, “Come on, Connor. Take a deep breath. It’s alright, you’re alright.”

It wasn’t until his breathing started to even out and Connor started to feel his hands and feet again that he noticed not only were his hands now tightly wound in somebody’s jacket but that somebody was Hank.

Eventually, Connor had calmed down enough that Hank had to hold him up. Finally meeting Hank’s blue eyes, the question of, “What happened?” Was met with its own two-word answer, “Car accident.”

Of course, Hank understood. He got the vivid flashbacks and anxiety attacks, he understood. The sympathy he’d been trying so hard to push down couldn’t be held back anymore. He couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around Connor’s still slightly shaking shoulders and holding him close.

Rubbing soothing circles on the smaller man’s back, Hank tried to continue to calm him, “It’s alright, it’s over now.”

Connor latched onto Hank embarrassingly tight, his hands desperate for comfort where ever they could find it. His face found it’s spot snuggled against Hank’s strong chest; his steady heartbeat was nothing but comforting.

After their silent moment of clinging to each other, Connor realized exactly what he was doing and quickly dropped Hank, pushing the other man away before starting to rapidly apologize, “I’m so sorry. I know that you don’t really like me and I didn’t mean to… I’m so sorry…”

Instead of agreeing, Hank just held on and stood fast, “Calm down, I wanted to help you.” With his reassurance, Hank saw Connor relax back against the wall where the remains of a shattered lamp laid on the floor. He kept his hands supporting Connor because Christ, it looked like the poor kid needed it, “You tired?”

With his brown eyes closing, Connor nodded and managed to answer, “Yeah… sorry you drove all this way.”

Heavily sighing, Hank just tried to keep everything neutral, “Stop apologizing. Come here.” He slowly lead a half-asleep and completely exhausted Connor to his awaiting bed. As soon as Connor was horizontal with his head on a pillow, his eyes were closed. Hank managed to fight his smile enough that it didn’t come through, “Get some rest.”

Through his exhaustion, Connor managed to reach out and grab Hank’s warm hand. He mumbled a sleepy, “Thank you.” Into his pillow that made Hank’s heart swell in his chest. But he’s not supposed to feel warm looking at Connor; he’s supposed to be angry, he’s supposed to be disgusted and grieving and hateful but looking down at Connor’s tearstained, red cheeks squished against his pillow, he couldn’t bring himself to be anything close to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts so far? <3


	6. Wandering Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Have a very short chapter while I'm stuck in class all day like a common peasant!

When Hank finally returned home, it was barely seven o’clock but Sumo was already jumping on him and begging for his dinner. Hank, being the softy, affectionately pet his dog, walked into the kitchen and poured him a fresh bowl of kibble. For his own dinner; it was left over Chinese and however much of his bottle of Black Lamb he could suck down before he passed out.

On the couch, Hank let his mind and stress be numbed by the warm burn of the alcohol. After a while, the drink allowed his mind to wander to certain… undesirable thoughts; Connor’s brown eyes, the way his hand’s easily held Connor against the wall, Connor’s small delicate hips. He knew the first time he was Connor sitting in Jimmy’s bar that the younger man was pretty, there was no denying it. Hank was just too angry to admit it but holy shit, that kid is gorgeous.

Maybe if Hank was younger and if they met under different circumstances… No. Fuck, that’s stupid but damn, it was hot to think about; Connor moaning and writhing under his touch. Hank could feel his cock get hard in his pants and against every moral fiber in his being, he took himself into his hand and squeezed the base of his sizable shaft. When his thoughts wondered farther to how Connor would look getting fucked. Between that and the quick, desperate movements of his fist over his cock, it didn’t take him long to come onto his stomach. As soon as his heart stopped pounding, his immediate thought was how horrible he was. Clearly, Connor wasn’t in a good place, especially not with Hank so thinking about him that way wasn’t right. The rest of his whiskey was a welcomed gift as was the dark unconsciousness that followed.

Sleeping until the early hours of the next morning, Connor woke up feeling slightly better but still groggy from the night before. Deciding a shower would be beneficial in soothing his still-anxious nerves, Connor took advantage of the completely empty and quiet bathroom.

After his shower, he knew he needed to go and find Markus to apologize for what he did the night before. In his room, Connor got dressed and cleaned up the shards of the shattered lamp before walking towards Markus and Simon’s bedroom. Knowing Simon was already gone for his shift at the local health clinic, Connor knocked on the door and waited until he heard Markus call him in. Entering the small room, the vibe was immediately calming; the walls had been painted a light cream color, the small house plants were delicately placed around the room and around the cloud-looking bed.

Connor awkwardly shifted his weight and leaned against the doorframe, “Hey, I’m really sorry about yesterday I had a bit of a panic attack. I didn’t mean to get violent with you.”

Luckily, Markus was understanding and just looked back at Connor with kindness in his heterochromic eyes, “I know and I know you’re a good person. Can I ask what set it off?” When Connor shook his head, Markus opened up instead,

“I was shot. My adoptive father had a son who hated me. We got into a fight and he shot me. I still have anxiety attacks when I get into altercations with people.” Now feeling uncomfortable with the onslaught of personal information, Connor remained silent allowing Markus to continue in that caring tone of his, “You don’t have to talk to me but talk to somebody. What about Lieutenant Anderson? He seemed to help you the other day.”

Finally managing to find his voice, Connor nodded and pushed the knot in his throat down, “Thanks, Markus.”

When he left the quiet bedroom, Connor started on his turn to clean Jericho in the front room. He had cleaned from the front room to the kitchen and was busy washing the dishes when Alice came bouncing into the kitchen. Turning his head, he greeted her with a smile, “Hey, Alice.” But didn’t see her screech to a halt when she saw him.

After a moment of silence, Connor dried his hands and turned all the way around to face the silent and seemingly scared girl. Out of worry, he asked, “You okay, kiddo?”

With wide, dark brown eyes she stared back at him and whispered, “Are you still mad at me?”

Remembering Alice’s drawing of her father only made the feeling that gripped his chest constrict tighter; he had scared her. Crouching down, Connor outstretched his arms, offering comfort to her. He tried to push away the burning feeling in his throat that threatened to crawl up into his eyes, “Oh, god… I was never mad at you, come here.”

Alice’s little sock covered feet patted over to Connor as she quickly wrapped her arms around his neck. Her delicate arms squeezed around his neck and let her head rest against his shoulder. His hands were warm and comforting on her back, rubbing in slow circles, “I was having a really rough day and I wasn’t handling it in a good way. I didn’t even notice that you were there, Alice. I could never be mad at you.”

Her sweet, small voice soothed the anxiety in Connor’s panicked soul, “I’m sorry you were sad.” Alice’s tiny finger’s wrapped into Connor’s t-shirt as she hugged him back and listened to the gently flicker and crackle of the kitchen lights.

Once they separated, Connor smiled at her innocent face, “That’s okay, did you want a snack?” And just like that with half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich each, they sat together and Connor listened while Alice told him about how she and Luther were going to look for Kara’s birthday’s present.

After Alice left with Luther, Connor continued to clean the rest of the shelter, working his way through room by room. As he cleaned, his thoughts kept drifting back to the night before. The hot shame crept up his neck to his cheeks as he thought about how a man as attractive as Hank saw him completely fall apart.

And attractive he was; his strong muscular arms covered with his grey hair, his sturdy solid body that held him so steadily. But his eyes, the light but endlessly deep and hopelessly lost blue of them. How his frown brought out the devastation in them but when he smiled the gap between his front teeth was noticeable and the clouds that covered his eyes lifted for a moment.

Pushing away the pain in his chest, Connor finished putting away the cleaning supplies and walked into the common room where he found Josh lounging on the couch with the TV on. Connor flopped down next to him and greeted, “Hey.”

Josh glanced at him and nodded back, “Hey Connor, looks great in here.” And there they sat in a friendly silence and watched Jeopardy occasionally guessing an answer out loud or sharing a grunt or two.

Back at the DPD, Hank was working homicides. Going home. Drinking. Getting up and doing it again. And again. And again. And again. Again and again. Over and over. Stuck in the same routine of pain and alcohol. Just stuck.


	7. Jumping Off the Ledge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mentions of a suicide attempt in this chapter! If you wish to avoid this read from (**) to (**). Stay safe xx.

With his application accepted at the small receptionist position, Connor threw himself into the job. He liked it enough and his boss was a pleasant man to work for. Most of all, it was nice to have a purpose, it was nice to make his own money, to be treated like he was competent. After a few days, the routine became second nature to him; arrive at seven, check Mr. Santarpiro’s messages, start the coffee maker, organize necessary files for the day, tidy up and wait for the boss man.

As peaceful as his days were in the small law office, the familiar feelings of sadness always crept their way back in. On this day, it was the blue and gold metal pen on Mr. Santarpiro’s desk that reminded him of the way things used to be and why they'll never be that way again.

* * *

Connor was six years old hanging off his father’s knee, endlessly pleading and begging, “Daddy, when can we go to the park?” His father had been in his office all day while the sun was shining just outside the window and Connor’s childlike and boundless energy had been steadily building all day. In the eyes of a six-year-old, the pile of paperwork seemed never ending but his father just kept promising ‘five more minutes.’

That was until Connor reached over and grabbed the fancy ballpoint pen he had been writing with and dropped it onto the desk. Whining, Connor pulled at the lapels of his father’s fancy grey suit, too energetic to notice the tired lines and dark bags under his eyes. He crossed his tiny arms and pouted “But you said we’d go hours ago!”

His father looked at him with annoyance but eventually, slowly but surely a smile. His big hand gently ruffled Connor’s hair as he nodded towards the door, “Come on buddy, let’s go.”

* * *

Coming back to himself, Connor realized he was still standing stock-still next to Mr. Santarpiro’s desk staring at the pen that was in his boss’s hand and scraping across the paper. For the rest of the day, the lingering feeling of his father hung over his shoulder but more than that was the loss and the depression that came with it.

He couldn’t close quick enough to get his ass to the closest liquor store, buy the cheapest bottle of vodka, a pack of cigarettes and try to kill the agony that ran through his soul. Aimlessly walking around and drinking himself stupid seemed like a great way to stop the ache. The cigarettes, on the other hand, those were to punish himself; there was nothing Connor hated more than the horrible, disgusting burn of a cancer stick’s smoke polluting his lungs and sticking in them.

With half a pack of smokes down and enough of the liquid gone to make the world shift and sway around him like the water of the Detroit River that splashed and twisted far below him. He knew he would end up here, he always ended up here. His father would bring him here all the time, the walk from anywhere in the city was second nature; even with the alcohol muddling his senses.

Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, Connor pulled out one more cigarette and his lighter. He leaned over the railing and breathed the smoke in deep. This shit was fucked. Well and truly fucked. Or maybe that was the alcohol talking. Either way, did it even matter anymore?

With another cigarette finished and his thoughts quickly spinning out of control, Connor gripped the cold metal railing and tried to calm his breathing.

**Would it be so bad if he leaned over and slipped? Would it matter if he drowned? Would it matter if he died? Would anyone care? He sure as fuck wouldn’t.

Just one foot on the bottom railing. It would be so easy to lean over, so easy to just end it. Just one more foot. Before he knew it, Connor was sitting on the railing of Riverside park high above the rushing water of the river. With white knuckles, he held on but he desperately wanted to let go.

Before he could move a finger, somebody cleared their voice behind him, yelling over the gusting wind, “If you jump it’s going to seriously inconvenience my night with paperwork!”

The last thing Connor wanted was to listen to somebody, especially somebody with that familiar voice; that stupid, deep, gorgeous, familiar voice. Yelling over his shoulder, Connor slurred, “Go away!”

Again the voice of reason flooded his voices, closer this time, “Why don’t you get down and we’ll go grab a coffee?”

While he had been patrolling, Hank had stopped by Riverside park to rest; it had been one of his favorite spots to take Cole and was one of his favorite memories now. However, what he wasn’t expecting was a familiar face sitting on the edge of a one hundred foot drop over water. He knew the instant he saw the silhouette that it was Connor; the way he held himself, his slender shoulders, the way he habitually leaned to the left.

Hank’s blood pressure kicked up when he saw how unsteady Connor looked. It got even worse when he yelled, “Fuck off!” at Hank, still not quite recognizing who it was.

“Come on, Connor. Get down.” Hank tried not to let the desperation come through his voice but when he got no answer again, he couldn’t help it. “Hey, I’m serious. Connor, look at me.”

With a shake of his head, one finger after the next started to let go as he leaned forward. He had expected to plummet down until he hit the frigid water. If his world didn’t stop then, he expected it to soon after.

But before he could fall a pair of strong arms wrapped around him from behind and pulled him back over the rail. Using all of his strength and body weight to pin the wiggling man to the ground. Connor desperately tried to kick Hank off of him but to no avail; Hank only held him tighter, “Yeah, I know you’re pissed.”

When the kicking stopped, Hank wrapped his hands around Connor’s back and heaved up so he was sitting, “Come on, get up.”

**Again, Hank found himself carrying Connor to his cruiser. Again, he found himself wishing things were different.  
As they drove to the small diner that Hank frequented during his shifts, they were both silent. Saying nothing until they were sitting across from each other in the old-fashioned diner, staring into their cups of black coffee. That was until the silence became too much to handle. Clearing his throat, Hank tried to breach the subject first, “Want to talk about it?”

Connor’s deeply sad and heartbreaking eyes met Hank’s and shattered him, “Do you ever want to talk about things?”

Chuckling to himself, Hank shakes his head in shame, “I guess that’s fair.” After a beat of silence, Hank asked the question that terrified him the most, “Were you really going to jump?”

The only thing scarier than the question was Connor’s answer, “Do you really want me to answer that?” He looked so serious, so dead set on ending everything.

Instead of getting angry or frustrated with Connor, Hank couldn’t help but joke, “Are you going to keep answering my questions with questions?”

With a smirk of his own, Connor flirted with the pack of cigarettes still in his pocket, “Do you want me to?”

Smiling at Connor from behind his coffee mug, Hank looked at him with infatuation that he tried to keep in check, “You’re a smart ass.”

Again, the silence returned as they sat and drank their coffee; Hank just getting caffeine and Connor slowly sobering up. As Hank watched Connor sip at his coffee and sit motionless in the worn-out, old booth. He softly smiled mostly to himself as Connor started to nod off but woke himself up instead. He couldn’t stop the words from coming out, “Seriously… don’t kill yourself.”

The look Connor gave Hank over the carved up wooden table stabbed Hank deep into his chest but his comment and the venom behind it was worse, “Hypocrite… you have the look. Don’t lie to me.”

The look they exchanged lasted long enough for them to try to understand each other but again, they hit the wall inside one another. Quickly looking away, Hank grabbed his keys and gruffly cleared his throat, “Let’s get you back.”

The drive back was tense to say the least and it didn’t get much better when they got back to Jericho. Hank ran his sweaty palms over his thighs and mumbled, “Mind if I come in for a second?”

Connor shook off his confusion as it was already two in the morning but hesitantly he agreed and quietly showed Hank inside. With the Lieutenant on high alert inside the shelter, Connor led him to his room. Inside the small bedroom, Hank continuously looked around his blue eyes never resting until Connor interrupted him, “What are you doing?”

Hank floundered for a moment, “Just…” He didn’t want to care but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want anything to happen to Connor, he wanted him to be safe.

Apparently, he really was that transparent, “…Making sure I’m not going to find a way to kill myself?” Shaking his head from exhaustion and emotional whiplash, Connor started to walk away from Hank but five strong finger’s gripping his upper arm stopped him.

Turning the smaller man back around to face him, Hank pleaded with him, “Connor, please.” He wasn’t one hundred percent sure what he was asking for but something needed to change.

Hank’s blue eyes were sad and easily guilt-tripped Connor into relinquishing the anger and resentment he held in his chest, “I’m not going to kill myself, I’m sober now. I just want to sleep.”

Hank slowly nodded as Connor crawled into bed but he made no effort to move; not until Connor cracked an eye and mumbled, “You going to stay all night?” Noticing Hank’s nervous pacing, he held out his hand and waved him over before grabbing a pen from the table next to his bed. Very deliberately he wrote his new number on the back of Hank’s hand, “I don’t sleep much. Text me and make sure I’m still alive if you want.”

After saving up money from work, Connor was finally able to afford a cell phone for the first time in he can’t remember how long and he planned to take full advantage of it.

When Hank left, it didn’t take Connor long to fall asleep but after that, it didn’t take long for the nightmares to wake him back up again. He did, however, wake up to a text from Hank.

**Hank : 3:21 AM**

‘Life check?’

**Connor : 4:52 AM**

‘Alive but tired.’

**Hank : 5:00 AM**

‘Get some more rest.”

Little did Connor know, Hank was resisting the urge to text him every other hour to make sure his breaths were still steady and even.

Little did Hank know, when Connor’s dreams changed from nightmares to something different his breath was far from calm. When he dreamt of Hank, it was heated and desperate. He figured that this was something better kept to his dreams.


	8. Drunk Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So... more mentions of suicide in this chapter, again if you want to skip it starts and ends at (**) and (**). Also, there is some somewhat drunk (but consensual) sex in this chapter if that makes you uncomfortable it starts and ends at (#) and (#).

Somebody was incessantly knocking on his bedroom door. He needed them to go away. The alcohol binge had left him dehydrated and sick, the cigarettes left him with a cough that rattled his lungs in his chest. The only thing worse was spending time with Hank, that had always left him with a feeling of longing and a wish that things that will change.

The knocking didn’t go away so Connor dragged himself out of the warm blanket cocoon and grouchily opened the wooden door. He ended up face to face with Josh who had an unreadable look on his face; it could only be described as mischievous. Before Connor could turn him away, Josh was quick to ask, “Want to take a drive with me today?”

No. He wanted to go back to bed and sleep for the rest of his life but the office was closed today as it was a Saturday and he wasn’t about to turn away a possible friend, “Yeah, sure. Just let me hop into a shower.” He definitely needed to wash off the funk that clung to his skin from yesterday.

Once he was clean, Connor met Josh by the front room before going outside and getting into Markus’s car that they were borrowing. It wasn’t until they started to drive down the road that Connor finally asked, “Where are we going?”

“My barber because no offense, you need to get your shit sorted out.” For emphasis, Josh gestured to Connor’s overgrown and uneven brown, curly hair with his thumb as he chuckled to himself. His laugh morphed into a devious smirk, “If you’re going to be bringing guys back, you should at least get cleaned up…”

Connor furiously blushed and stared at his hands, “We were just talking.” He hoped that Josh didn't hear exactly what he and Hank were saying, hopefully, he just heard voices. Thankfully, the walls aren't too thin.

Josh seemed to see right through that, “Is that what you want? Just talking? Or a little more action?” His eyes stayed trained on the road because there was no way he had to look at Connor to see how beet red he was.

After a moment of embarrassment, Connor answered, “It’s complicated with us… I don’t think there will ever be any action… no matter what I want.” Somehow his face managed to get even hotter with the admittance.

As they pulled into the barbershop parking lot, Connor’s excitement grew. He never thought something as simple as a haircut would make him so happy. The haircut didn't take too long but with every buzz or snip, Connor felt better and better; it really was a freeing feeling. With the sides of his brown hair shaved and the top trimmed to look styled, Connor immediately felt happier. He couldn’t keep his hands from running through it constantly; it had been so long since it had been short and neat. It kept him in good spirits for a few days…

It wasn’t until a few nights later that Connor found himself in Jimmy’s bar after work. He was a few whiskeys in with his head resting on the counter when the thoughts started to hit him. They were the same thoughts that plagued his dreams; Hank’s hands and his body. His eyes and his voice.

He banged his forehead off the wooden counter hard once before knocking back another shot of whiskey. The alcohol was definitely having an effect on his decision-making skills because all he wanted to do was drag his sorry ass to Hank’s front door and ask to be fucked. God, just the thought of it had him growing uncomfortable in his pants. After one more shot, his feet start to move on their own accord towards the exit. He needed to go see Hank. He needed to talk to him. He needed to go touch him. He needed to feel something. He needed to feel anything.

With every swift but clumsy footstep, Connor brought himself closer and closer to Hank’s house. This was a bad idea. This was such a horrible, bad idea. Why couldn’t he control his stupid drunk limbs? Before he was even aware of it, he was loudly knocking on the heavy wooden front door unsure what time it was exactly or if Hank was even home. Luckily, it didn’t take long to get his answer. The front door swung open leaving him face to face with Hank (with Sumo also rapidly sniffing at his hand.) Safe to say that Hank was thoroughly confused that Connor was standing on his doorstep at eleven-thirty at night, “Hey, you okay?” His face was scrunched up while he stood in his pajamas, staring at Connor.

With the alcohol still fueling his system, Connor started to babble, “Hank, I… you. Look, it’s not fair that you can just be—look like that and act like you do. And you think you always have to save me! But even though sometimes I guess I need it… whatever! It’s not fair. You! You’re always there and always in my mind and—”

Realizing he wasn’t speaking coherently, Hank quickly cut Connor off with a quick hand waved in front of his face, “Just stop. Why are you here?”

Nothing could have prepared Hank for Connor’s hand gently coming to rest on his chest followed by those deep brown eyes meeting his in desperation and lust. His voice was a quiet whisper of a whimper as the heat from his hand penetrated the thin fabric of Hank’s t-shirt, “Please… I want you.”

Hank pushed him away out of instinct, “We can’t. I mean… I couldn’t. I never would with you.” He needed to keep telling himself that he would never be with Connor. He needed to tell himself that because if he didn’t tell himself that, he might do something stupid.

Something stupid like listen to those gorgeous eyes as Connor pleaded, “You won’t hurt me. I know you’re just lying to yourself. I’ve seen how you look at me.” Or something stupider like let his resolve crumble when Connor’s soft, warm lips gently brushed against his neck drawing a groan out of him. Something stupid like grabbing Connor’s thin waist, dragging him inside, and closing the door.

(#)Connor’s hands desperately gripped onto Hank’s t-shirt as his mouth found the older man’s in a rough, rushed kiss. He was backed against the kitchen table before Hank’s hands, that were growing rougher, turned him over and pressed his chest hard against the table with a strong hand between his shoulder blades.

The only sounds that filled the house were the sound of the TV’s low volume, their rapid breathing huffing out, and pants being pulled off. Connor’s breathing was loud as he tried to steady his anxiety but with Hank’s strong hands on him and everything moving so fast it wasn’t an easy task.

It certainly didn’t get any easier as he tried to hide the top of his prosthesis from sight. He desperately wanted another drink but when he felt two spit soaked fingers roughly poking and stretching his rim, all other thoughts flew out of this head.

His shaking hands struggled for purchase on the table as he listened to Hank spit into his hand and grunt as he slicked himself up. When he pushed into Connor it wasn’t sweet or gentle; it was desperate and heated. Hank braced his hands on either side of Connor’s tiny back as he started to roughly fuck him.

From the moment he felt those lips on his neck, he knew it was a lost cause. He desperately wanted this with Connor and from the moment he pushed into him, he was in heaven. The man squirming under him moaned so sweetly every time Hank thrusted into him. It was easy to get lost in the fantasy that he was not really who he was.

Keeping things impersonal, Hank fucked him facedown until he came into his hand that was rapidly jerking himself off. It didn’t take Hank long to follow as it had been so damn long since he’d been with anybody.

As their heavy breathing subsided and the hot sweat that clung to their skin started to dry and cool, the gravity of what he just did started to hit Hank. He slept with Connor. Trying to calm the shaking in his hands, Hank pulled his pajama pants over his softening cock. He just fucking had sex with Connor.

(#)He needed to be alone. He couldn’t even make eye contact with Connor who was now leaning against the table with his pants on again and an equally panicked look across his face. He had to force his voice to come out of his restricting throat, “Get out.” When Connor just sat quietly, looking like he desperately wanted to say something, Hank just grew angrier. Grabbing the wooden chair that was next to Connor, Hank threw it across the room and roared, “Get the hell out of my house!” As it clattered to the ground, they both heard the scraping of Sumo’s nails clattering towards Hank’s bedroom but neither reacted; they both stood still just staring at each other until Connor turned, grabbed his discarded jacket, and quickly left before slamming the door behind him.

**It didn’t take Hank longer than five seconds to find the bottle of Black Lamb and completely drown himself. His pacing footsteps started to lose their cadence as the panic took over, “What the fuck did you do? God, what the fuck did you do?!”

Every slug of the bottle burned his throat all the way down to his stomach. When his vision got blurry and his tongue got heavy; Hank grabbed the revolver he kept in his kitchen drawer and hastily spun it before pressing the cold metal to his temple and pulling the trigger.

When nothing happened but an empty click, he kept the gun firmly grasped in his shaking hand as he reached back towards the bottle. The more amber liquid that disappeared past his lips, the less he cared whether or not the next squeeze of the trigger killed him. He didn’t care. He didn’t care.

Bracing his hands on either side of his head, the gun rattled as it shook in his hand. It didn’t care until his finger that was still wrapped around the trigger squeezed it with a wave of nausea that ran through his body. For the first time since he started playing the game, a shot went off.

Barely skimming his head, the bullet made his ears ring and the gun fall from his hand. Falling to the floor, Hank picked up the fallen gun and chucked the now empty revolver across the kitchen and into the living room.

Everything hit him all at once. Things were looking like they might be okay for the first time in a long time and now… everything was fucked. His ragged and panicked breathing left him struggling and heaving for air until the deep dark unconsciousness harshly dragged him under. **

After he left Hank’s, Jericho didn’t seem welcoming. The shame and filth seemed to run more than just skin deep; it pushed through his blood into his bones and stuck. The only thing that soothed it was the cold; it washed over him and brought him back into his body. Into the reality of what happened, it made things feel real again.

Finding himself a safe spot he used to frequent in Downtown, Connor tried to calm himself down but unlike Hank, he didn’t sob and hyperventilate. As he sat on the cold, damp ground with his knees pulled up against his chest the tears silently slid down his tears. He didn’t bother to wipe them away as his forehead fell forward against his knees and his eyes closed. What the hell was he going to do now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know your thoughts so far. Comments keep me hydrated.


	9. Talking With You

The next morning when Hank managed to pry his eyes open, he was greeted with his dirty kitchen tiles and an ache that reached every inch of his body. The night before was a haze of whiskey, white-hot pleasure, and blinding anxiety. The residual ringing in his right ear reminded him that last night did happen and it wasn’t just a sick nightmare.

He wanted to find wherever he threw that gun and finish the job but he barely had time to pick himself up off the floor and check see that it was almost noon before he heard somebody knock on his front door. The last thing in the world he wanted to deal with was another human so he ignored it but by the third knock, Hank was annoyed and angry enough that he marched over to the door and ripped it open, only to be met with a familiar face from the night before.

Wearing the same clothes as yesterday, Connor looked just as horrified as Hank felt. His brown eyes were wide and unsure of what to say.

The nausea that smacked Hank in the face was all it took to get him to start to shut the door in Connor’s face. However, instead of a satisfying click of his privacy being restored, Connor’s palm slammed against the door. His voice was panicked and shaking, “Wait, please!”

Ripping the door open, Hank harshly grabbed Connor’s arm and carelessly dragged him inside. With the door loudly shut behind them, Hank could focus on nothing but his anger; his anger at Connor, at himself, at the way things ended up, “What?! What do you want from me?! I made a mistake. I fucked the kid who killed my son. What the fuck could you possibly want from me?!”

When he saw the tears welling up in Connor’s eyes, the guilt from last night reared his ugly head but when Connor whispered, “I didn’t kill Cole…” Any thought other than his son flew out of his mind.

His fists tightened by his sides as his face contorted in anger; Cole’s name coming out of Connor’s mouth made Hank feel sick especially when Hank remembered how Connor was moaning for him last night, “Don’t talk about him.”

But Connor couldn’t keep his mouth shut and he just kept pushing, “It was an accident and I’m sorry but I can’t help the way I feel about you.”

Hank grabbed Connor’s boney shoulder’s and shoved him against the hallway wall; he could feel his blood boiling and pulsing hotly in his veins, “Shut up! You don’t fucking feel anything towards me!” But Hank knew he did, he just wished to God he didn’t. Starting to let go of Connor, he tried to also let go of some anger, “Last night was a mistake—”

Connor cut him off with a venomous voice, “—It’s not going to happen again… Do you really believe that, Hank?”

With his death grip returning, now on Connor’s upper arms, Hank growled into his face, “You little fucking asshole.”

All Connor wanted was for Hank to admit that he had feelings towards him but since that seemed less and less likely, his hope that this was going to go well was quickly fleeting so he started to give up, “Just say the word and I’ll be out of your life.”

But that’s not what Hank wanted either; the frustration had been building so steadily in him at the constant and drastic changes of his emotions boiled over until he slammed his fist against the wall next to Connor’s head. The loud bang made Connor jump but he didn’t want Hank to drop him and walk away.

It was noon and here Hank was walking into his kitchen to continue his alcohol binge from the night before. Once he had the familiar bottle back in his hand it didn’t take two seconds before he was downing it.  
Everything was just too much. Connor was still lurking behind him with those big fucking brown eyes. He chucked the mostly empty bottle of Black Lamb against the wall before kicking the table and grabbing the other glasses on the wooden table and launching them across the room. Over the shattering of the glass, Hank yelled, “Fuck!” and grabbed at his hair while Connor silently watched him have his meltdown.

He watched until a glimmer of silver caught his eye on the living room floor. While Hank had his hands braced on the kitchen table with his head down, Connor quietly snuck over and picked up the empty revolver; as he turned it over in his hands, the gears started to turn in his mind. He knew Hank was a damn hypocrite.

Slowly walking back over to where Hank had his back to him, Connor tried not to make him any angrier but he needed to know, “Why do you have a gun?”

Hank shook his head as his heavy breaths moved the muscles under his t-shirt, “Leave me alone.” He didn’t want to talk about this, he didn’t want to talk at all; he wanted to drink himself into oblivion and not wake up again. When he felt Connor’s too gentle hand caress his tense shoulder it was the last straw.

He couldn’t stop himself from turning around and roughly shoving Connor backward, “Fuck off!”

He only wanted to get the kindness away from him, he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t want his strong hands to overpower Connor and knock him off balance; making him try to catch himself on his right leg which was hard considering his prosthetic was loose and unsteady under him.

Connor hated falling. When he first lost his leg, he fell all the time. It made him feel weak and vulnerable. Sitting on Hank’s kitchen floor, looking up at the man who put him there, Connor couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over.

When Hank looked down at him, the impact of his choices hit him hard; Connor’s eyes were so sad and it was all his fault. His drunk and sluggish limbs gave out under him as he staggered backward, stopping only when his back hit the cabinets. Sinking down to the floor, Hank brought his knees up to rest his elbows on them. With his fingers in his tangled grey hair, Hank finally gave up the fight, “You don’t want anything to do with me. Clearly, I’m no good for you… I’m a mess and you’re so bright, Connor. Every time I look at you all I can think is that I want you and it hurts because I know I shouldn’t. I don’t know why it’s you but it is.”

Hank’s sad blue eyes looked more like the grey of the revolver that sat cold and lifeless between them. Moving the offensive item out of the way, Connor slowly moved toward Hank until he was sitting next to the older man. With his own tears still streaming down his face long forgotten, Connor reached out for Hank’s hand very slowly as though he was trying to connect with a feral animal.

When Connor’s gentle and slightly cold hand touched Hank’s, it snapped the Lieutenant out of his trance. Hank’s eyes finally looked back at Connor long enough for his heart to shatter; his sweet face was red and tear stained, his sobs were being hiccupped out in short violent bursts.

A warm hand gently wiped away his tears, when he opened his eyes again, Connor saw that Hank was actually smiling at him, “You’re going to dehydrate.”

The sudden and unexpected softness caused an abrupt laugh to burst out of Connor who laid his head on Hank’s strong shoulder and accepted the arm that wrapped around his back. They stayed like that for a long time dealing with the guilt until Connor spoke up, “Last night, I shouldn’t have come over like that and I’m sorry that it happened like that.”

Not being one for elegant words, Hank just held Connor tighter and agreed, “Me too. I shouldn’t have treated you like that, I just lost it. I know that’s not an excuse.” That’s when he thought back to finding Connor on that bench the second time he met him, “Where did you even go last night?”

“Downtown then back here.” The shame was evident in his voice as he hung his head low. When Hank didn’t answer, Connor tried to explain himself, “…I was worried about you.”

Heavily sighing, Hank desperately tried not to think about Connor sleeping in the cold. Rubbing his hand up and down the smaller man’s back, hoping to warm him up still, “No more night in the cold, okay?”

After Connor nodded, Hank finally paid attention to how much shorter Connor’s soft brown hair was; he couldn’t stop himself from running his fingers through the freshly cut hair. He fought the small smile on his face at how good Connor looked with his pretty face more visible.

Keeping his hand in Connor’s hand, Hank started to look at the state of disarray his kitchen was in, “I should… clean up. Why don’t you get some rest for a bit?”

Through everything that had happened, Connor still ended up curled up on his couch with Sumo by his feet. Both of them were sound asleep while Hank cleaned up the spilled alcohol and glass that was scattered across the tiles.

A far-away memory came crashing back into him...

* * *

Cole had been dying to play little league so Hank finally caved and bought him his first glove to practice before the new year started. One summer day, while Hank was busy making them lunch, a rouge baseball shattered the kitchen window before his young son came running into the house, breathing hard with a panicked look on his face.

When he saw his father, he thought for sure he was in the dog house, “I’m sorry!”

But instead of being mad, Hank remembered a time when he was breaking neighbor’s windows and causing trouble, “It’s no big deal, kiddo. Why don’t you go grab the broom for me and once we get this cleaned up I’ll go out and play with you?”

When he saw the relief on his son’s face, he knew he made the right choice. After all, it was just a mistake and that window needed to get replaced soon anyway.

* * *

Coming back into the moment, all he wanted was a drink. He started to look for his next bottle of Black Lamb but was stopped when he heard Connor huff out a little sob in his sleep. Looking over at him, Hank knew he needed to make some changes; he was damn lucky he got a second chance, there was no way he was getting a third.

 

 

 

 

_Fan art for this chapter:[here](https://shitfanficmeupsblog.tumblr.com/image/183131564651). Done by ko-no-yo. _


	10. Dinner Dates

Clothes shopping. Just the thought of it sent anxiety through Connor, especially with somebody as fit as Markus going with him. As they looked through the seemingly endless racks of clothes at the Salvation Army, Connor tried to pay no mind to the fact that they were looking at the small sizes for him and large sizes for Markus.

Markus seemed to know exactly what he liked; t-shirt and long sleeves that were slightly tighter and fit snugly on his muscles and dark blue jeans that looked like they were going to fit him amazingly. It was no mystery why Simon was with him.

But Connor… had no idea what he was looking for. His shoulders were bony, he had a pigeon chest, his back muscles were nothing like they used to be, his ribs now stuck out at odd angles, his thighs were no longer the muscular, strong runners thighs they used to be. All he could think of was sweat pants and baggy sweaters.

He was carrying a few items until Markus walked over and plucked them all out of his hands. Shaking his head, he denied Connor the comfort of the familiar, “Come on, let’s get you something different.”

Letting himself be dragged off in a different direction, Connor tried not to think about how he’d look. Would his bones stick out? Would his prosthetic he noticeable? Would he even look decent?

Thankfully, he didn’t have too long to think about it before Markus was filling his arms with jeans, button-up shirts, slacks, tighter t-shirts, shorts—

“Okay! Markus, I think that’s good.” Feeling thoroughly overwhelmed and overloaded with thoughts and now clothes, Connor just wanted to start trying them on so he could know that they don’t look good and they could leave.

Standing in the dressing room, Connor evaluated his options. Immediately tossing the shorts to the side, he decided on starting with the shirts; even though he was pigeon chested and lanky, he didn’t hate his torso nearly as much as his… legs.

Shirt one, a plain maroon sweater, was simple and fit him decently. Pulling it off, he tried on the next option, a red and black flannel. It was plain but snug enough to make him tug at it and wiggle until it felt like it fit okay. Finally, he stepped out to show Markus.

Instead of being laughed at or any other mockery, Markus smiled at him and shot him a thumbs up from where he sat on the couch, “Looks good. What else?”

Returning to the dressing room and feeling slightly more confident, Connor started to strip his clothes when he was interrupted by Markus’s voice, “So… what’s going on between you and the Lieutenant?”

The blush that spread over his cheeks made Connor extremely glad he was hidden in the dressing room. Deciding to try on a pair of jeans he started to take off the sweatpants he was wearing, “That’s a good question. It’s confusing. We both… want this but we have history so we’re working through it.”

Along with the jeans, he chose a button-up short sleeve with a slight dotted pattern to it and tried not to fuss too much in the mirror while he listened to Markus’s reply, “Work through it a little faster? We have a bet going.”

Walking out of the room this time was a little harder, his anxiety was high enough that his hands shook. Standing in front of Markus, he held out his arms and sheepishly asked, “Well…?”

Without one ounce of sarcasm in his voice, Markus looked up from his phone to smile at Connor and give him the once over before answering, “You look great!”

But there was one concern still weighing on his mind, he put a hand on his right thigh and tried to stutter out his question without seeming like it was bothering him as much as it actually was, “You don’t think it looks weird…?”

Markus’s eyes traveled down to Connor’s leg before he shook his head, “No! It’s not even noticeable." and he wasn’t lying. Connor’s prosthetic wasn’t noticeable through the slightly baggy jeans. In fact, the new-to-him clothes and hair cut made him look like almost a real adult human.

While he was changing back into his unfortunate clothes, he decided not to try anything else on. He was done and tired with all this clothes talk.

Finally, with some new clothes in hand, he and Markus made their way out to the car. As they braved the cool weather, Connor felt his phone vibrate and buzz in his pocket. When they were sitting in the car, he pulled his phone out to look at the message and was only a little surprised to see that it was Hank who had texted him.

**Hank : 11:27 AM**

‘Let me take you out to dinner tonight?'

He didn’t even need to think about his response since the other night they’d been talking more but they hadn’t had a chance to really spend time together. Quickly typing out his reply, Connor hit send and fought the rising anxiety in his chest.

**Connor : 11:32 AM**

‘I’d love to.’

Back at Jericho, Connor had put his clothes through a wash cycle and had started to put them away while trying to find something to wear for his… date?

He sat on the bed with his head in his hands, nervously bouncing his left leg and trying to not freak out over seeing Hank again tonight. He kept his clamped shut until he heard little feet come bounding into the room, followed by a little voice, “Connor! Me and Kara made cookies, do you want one?”

He couldn’t even fight his smile as he looked up at Alice and answered, “Not right now, kiddo.” As she started to leave, Connor stopped her because kids were brutally honest and that was exactly what he was looking for. He held up the two shirts that were next to him on the bed, a navy blue button-up and a nice grey sweater. Showing them to her, he asked, “Which shirt do you like more?”

She didn’t even hesitate to answer, “The blue one!” Her sweet hazel eyes gave Connor a fearless reassurance that things were going to be alright.

With a little panic calmed, Connor managed to smile at her and stand on still (slightly shaky) legs, “Thanks… I think I could use one of Alice’s special cookies.” After all, cookies did seem like the best distraction until Hank picked him up a few hours later and if that made Alice happy well then that was just a bonus.

When Hank did pick him up, the ride to the small, causal dive bar near Jericho was mostly silent except for the few comments about Connor’s new clothes or where they were going to eat. It was a bit of a relief when they sat down at the small corner booth as it gave them something do to other than stealing silent, shy looks at each other.

After ordering, Hank couldn’t help his fidgeting, “I have to admit, I’m a little nervous. It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a date.”

Thinking back on his own experience and remembering the last time he was in this position, Connor blushed and shook his head, “That’s okay… neither have I.” In fact, it had been about four years; even before the accident, he had been so focused on school that dating seemed so trivial.

Pushing past the shroud of awkward that hung around their booth, Connor cleared his throat and looked across the table at Hank before asking, “So, do you have any work stories?”

Taking a sip from his (non-alcoholic) iced tea, Hank chuckled, “Oh… that’s a whole can of worms.” Hank told him stories about being a rookie cop and making all kinds of ridiculous mistakes. One of the stories made Connor’s eyes crinkle at the corners, his smile was wide, his laugh was sweet as his brown eyes sparkled at Hank. His warm laughter struck Hank directly in his heart and that scared the absolute hell out of him so of course, he needed to change the subject, “So what about you? Any college stories?”

One, in particular, came to mind… “My friend and I were throwing a party and a few people turned into way too many people. So we ran out of booze but we were already drinking so we had to walk to the store. Turns out that was a bit more… difficult than we thought it would be. Me and Rupert, my friend, were just a mess and when we got to the shop he grabbed the booze and went to pay for it. Instead, he got into a fight with the cashier and ran and we were trying to drunk-run back to our dorms. Then the cops got involved and there were some lies and hiding and a few other interesting developments…”

Hank laughed deep from his belly, “I can name about seven arrest-able offenses in that story.” His blue eyes were warm and uncaring about whatever ‘bad’ things happened in college, just that the memories were putting a smile on Connor’s face.

Connor’s high cheekbones were dusted with a light blush as he ducked his head away from Hank’s stare. Changing the subject away from his past history, he asked, “How’s Sumo?”

The Lieutenant quickly picked up on that, “Nice deflection.” But he still answered the question because he knew Connor was fond on the ball of fluff, “He’s good… Are you sure you’re not just in this for my dog?”

Shrugging, Connor smirked, “He is a very good boy.” Despite his playful words, his feet were nervously shuffling under the table but hey, out of sight, out of mind.

With a smile of his own, Hank remembered the day that he and Cole went to the shelter to pick out a puppy but ended up leaving with the slightly older dog, “Cole picked him out for his fourth birthday.” When Hank saw Connor staring at his hands, he tried to reassure him, “Hey, it’s okay. Happy memories.”

It was obvious that Cole was a sensitive subject between the two of them and seemed that he always would be. Accidentally bringing up the next sensitive subject, Hank innocently wondered, “Do you have any happy memories?... of your dad?”

But Connor could only think of one. He could only think of his dead father slumped against the steering wheel; his chest caved in and crushed against the steering wheel, his face bloody and eyes open and unmoving, staring at his terrified son.

Connor shook his head and stayed quiet, breaking his eye contact with Hank. After that, things were a little awkward; their conversation had gone from happy and playful to painfully quiet in the span on thirty seconds. Thankfully, their waitress came back with their food and both of them could start eating.

With half of his sandwich gone, Connor noticed Hank smiling at him but he didn’t know why until the older man said, “It’s nice to see you eating.”

And the atmosphere just kept getting weirder. Growing defensive, Connor frowned and pouted, “What do you mean?”

Hank shot his head up at the unexpected tone that came from Connor’s mouth; he sounded offended and Hank knew he fucked something up, “I mean… well… you…” However, what he meant to say was, “You’re too skinny and even though you’re gorgeous, it would be amazing to see you looking healthier.”

Eventually what came out of his mouth was something that hopefully could repair the damage, “I’m just glad you’re taking care of yourself.”

Something about Connor just made Hank say the stupidest shit. Clearing his throat, Hank rubbed his sweaty palms on his thighs, “I’m going to get a beer. Do you want a drink?”

“Yes, please.” Anything would kill the uncomfortable vibe that had pulled up a chair and decided to stay.  
After a few beers, things lightened up again but when there was a lull in the conversation, Hank found himself mesmerized by how Connor’s skinny fingers played with his beer bottle. His lustful eyes moved up to where Connor’s collar bones peaked out from above his shirt to his freckles to his deep brown eyes and his—

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Connor’s playful voice interrupted Hank’s ogling, making his face go bright red.  
Knowing he’d been caught, Hank cleared his throat and grunted, “Shut up, you brat.” When he got a shy but warm smile in response, he knew that at least their date would end on a good note.

When they ended up back at Jericho, the fidgeting that had slowly stopped throughout dinner suddenly kicked up again because goodbyes were always horribly, painfully awkward. Trying so hard not to say something ridiculously stupid, Hank fiddled with the steering wheel, “We’ll do this again soon, okay?”

Nodding, Connor agreed, “Yes, please.” Surprisingly, he leaned over and gently kissed Hank’s cheek. Avoiding eye contact, he softly whispered, “Goodnight, Hank.”

With the light on the front of the house shining through the windows of Hank’s Oldsmobile, Connor’s sweet face was illuminated compared to the dark, cold night that was just outside of the car. Resisting the urge to lean forward and kiss Connor, worried that would be pushing it too far, Hank just smiled back at him, “Night.”

When Connor went inside, he snuck into his bedroom before flopping down onto his bed. As he stared up at the ceiling, all he could think about was Hank’s blue eyes and deep laugh. He covered his face with his hands, trying to hide his blush from nobody, and chuckled at how stupid he was being. He shook his head and denied feeling like a lovestruck teenager because there was no way he was… right?


	11. Anniversary

October 11th is, was, and will always be the worst day of Hank’s life. As he pried his eyes open, he wished he hadn’t, he wished he would have stayed asleep for the rest of his life. All he could think of was his son’s laughing blue eyes, his happy voice when something exciting happened in school, how he would complain that he didn’t want to go to bed but as soon as his head hit the pillow he would be fast asleep.

Rolling over, Hank moved just enough to grab the mostly full bottle of Black Lamb that was next to his bed from last night. He was emotionless as he drank himself into a stupor, trying desperately to forget how happy he once was knowing he’ll never be that happy again—not without his son. Losing a child felt like losing your heart and your soul, you could never understand until it’s happened to you. It felt like losing your love and your hope.

His alcohol-fueled thoughts drifted to the mistakes he made with Cole; all the times he had let his son down. All the birthdays and Christmas’ he had to miss because of work, all the promises he had broken. He passed out for the first time that day only two hours since he woke up.

But Connor was wide awake sitting by his father’s grey headstone, his own bottle of alcohol in hand, only his was vodka instead of Hank’s usual whiskey. He had his eyes fixed on his father’s name engraved in the cold lifeless stone, _‘David Stern’_. He didn’t want to drink in front of his father but he couldn’t help it, he needed to ease the pain.

Taking a long pull from the bottle, Connor choked back the cough before bowing his head and fighting the tears as he whispered, “Hey dad.”

Feeling the late fall dirt under his hands, Connor tried to keep his breathing steady but he could feel those old emotions quickly spiraling, “…I really miss you.” The cemetery was unusually silent this morning; not even a bird call or a gust of wind. Worst of all, he didn’t hear his father’s voice and he knew he never would again.

When Hank woke up again, it was to his phone ringing incessantly on his nightstand. Rolling over, he grabbed the bottle of whiskey and drank from it before beginning to worry about who was calling. When he did finally look at who was calling, the phone had already stopped ringing. The bright screen displayed three missed calls from Fowler and two from Ben Collins, they knew what today was and why Hank wasn’t at work, they just wanted to check on their friend.

What they didn’t know was that their friend had thrown his phone across the room and pressed the barrel of his revolver against his temple. All Hank wanted was to be with his son… he’s going to be with his son. Spinning the barrel, he pulled the trigger and listened to the empty click. Pull…click. Pull… click. Pull… click.

Connor buried his head in his hands and finally let a sob escape his lips, “Dad… just answer me. I just want you to fucking answer me. I need you…”

Chucking the completely empty glass bottle across the cemetery, the distant shatter didn’t even register over his cries, “I miss you so much. This never should have happened.” His heart ached deeply for the comfort and love only a father could offer a son. He yearned for the days of just it just being the two of them after his mother left; they were best friends not just father and son.

That night, he broke his promise to Hank and spent the night out in the cold, desperate to be close to his father in any way he could.

Blue eyes opened up to be greeted with midmorning light. Another October 11th had come and gone, this one no easier than the last. The only thing that seemed like it would help was more whiskey. For the first time that he was aware of in twenty-four hours, Hank dragged himself out of bed and to the bathroom to piss before the urge to vomit quickly overtook him.

After emptying only burning stomach acid into the toilet, he stood on shaking feet and slowly tried to wash the exhaustion off his face and brush his teeth.

When he finally made his way into the kitchen, Sumo looked up at him from his spot under the kitchen table and started to wag his tail, happy to see his owner was still alive. Slowly, he made his way towards Hank and licked his hand that hung limply by his side.

Hank was still reeling emotionally from the anniversary of his son’s death, he walked through his house, occasionally drinking from his most recent bottle of whiskey. He haunted the halls like a ghost; a shadow of the man he once was.

Connor abruptly coughed himself awake as a particularly cold gust of wind jerked him out of his sleep. It took him a minute to remember where he was but when he finally did all he could think of was how sick he felt.

Saying goodbye to his father was hard and he knew that coming back would be just as difficult. As his stumbling footsteps carried him away from his father’s grave, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and for the first time since the day before yesterday, he texted Hank.

**Connor : 12:05 PM**

‘Are you okay?’

Hank’s phone buzzed in his pocket, snapping him out of the trance his slice of toast had put him in. Taking it off the counter, his heart stopped when he saw that it was Connor who had texted him. Fuck—he had been so wrapped up in his own sorrow, he didn’t even think if Connor was in a similar state. After reading the text, he replied,

**Hank : 12:07 PM**

‘Fine. Are you?’

**Connor : 12:10 PM**

‘Fine.’

That’s it, they’re going to deal with this their own way. At least that’s what Connor thought until he was halfway home and realized he couldn’t hold himself up on his two feet. He was so exhausted and the deep bone chill that constantly ran through him made it hard to take more than two steps without feeling like he was going to fall to his knees.

It was quickly dawning on him that he couldn’t handle this. He couldn’t cope by himself. He went the only place he thought he could in his sorry state.

Eventually, he managed to make it to Hank’s front porch without passing out, which was in and of itself a miracle all things considered. Bringing his shaking, dirt-caked knuckles up to the front door, Connor knocked, hoping that who was going to answer the door was still going to be his Hank.

Blue eyes met tear-filled brown ones as Hank pulled the door open. Connor looked so damn pathetic standing out in the cold that Hank couldn’t stop himself from wrapping him in a hug and pulling him against his warm body.

From where his face was squished against Hank’s chest, Connor mumbled, “I’m not fine.” His tears left stains on Hank’s blue t-shirt.

With one arm wrapped around Connor’s back and the other on his head, Hank bitterly admitted, “Neither am I.”

They stayed like that for only another minute before stepping inside and closing the door behind them. Once they were inside, Hank led him to the bathroom to try to clean him up (something he found himself doing more and more often). With Connor sitting on the toilet lid, Hank helped him take off his jacket before grabbing a small towel and dampening it with warm water.

Taking Connor’s chattering chin into his hand, Hank maybe too roughly, started to scrub the dirt off his cheeks before asking, “Slept on the ground again, didn’t you?” The anger was clear in his voice; he meant for it to be laced with concern for Connor’s health but that’s not how it came out.

Connor tried to defend himself, “I—”

But Hank was still tipsy and irrational in his emotions, “No! You’re not a goddamn stray dog! You have a bed. Fucking sleep in it.” Hank was being hard on him but he didn’t want to admit it until Connor made him feel guilty.

“I was with my dad.”

Fuck. Of course, he was. Moving on from his face, Hank held his hand out and waited for Connor to place his boney hand in his. From there, he started to scrub the dirt off Connor’s knuckles. It worried him just how icy the hand he was holding was, “It was cold last night. Your fingers are still fucking freezing.”

Once Connor was clean, Hank grabbed the closest pair of clean sweatpants and his old police sweatshirt for him to wear. Still trying to keep up the façade that he was even remotely upset with Connor, Hank handed him the clothes and hastily left after saying, “Change. You stink.”

A minute later, Connor walked out of the bathroom and into the hall to where Hank was waiting for him with a tired look on his face, “Come here, I want to show you something.”

Together they walked into Cole’s bedroom where Connor just stood still and stared, trying to process what he was truly seeing. This wasn’t just ‘Hank’s son’ or ‘the boy they hit’ or ‘the victim’; this was the little boy who had more fantasy books than non-fiction ones, he had stuffed animals on the foot of his bed and on the shelf across from his bed, the lamp next to his bed had little clouds on it, the notebook on his nightstand had an unfinished drawing of a robot on it… this was Cole.

Connor looked up at Hank with broken eyes as he whispered, “Do you ever think you’ll forgive me?”

Looking down at his feet, Hank cleared his throat, “…Nothing to forgive.”

But the bitterness was ever present in Hank’s tone, the cold look in his eye was unchanging no matter how close they got. It seemed like nothing would fix that, “But you’re still angry.”

“Aren’t you?!” Of course, he’s angry. How could he not be?! His son was ripped from his life and while that may not be anyone’s fault, it’s not fair that the world could just tear his life apart and try to patch it back together with glue and tape and other quick fixes that will never stick.

Sighing, he shook his head and watched as Connor slowly walked further into the room. The line of stuffed animals caught his eye. He gently picked up a stuffed dog and stroked it as Hank watched.

All Hank could think of isn’t Connor standing alone in the cold, empty, dark bedroom but him and Cole sitting together on the floor happily playing together.

* * *

“Which puppy do you like the most?” Cole’s voice happily questioned Connor as he placed all his stuffed dogs on the floor between them.

Connor’s brown eyes searched the pile as he thoughtfully hummed, “The most? Well, I don’t know if it’s possible to pick a favorite…”

Grabbing his own favorite, a corgi with a polka dotted bowtie and holding it close to his chest, Cole bounced up and down, “You should try!”

Putting his hands up in defeat from the puppy eyes, Connor picked a certain familiar-looking one out of the group, “Okay, okay… I like this one.”

“That’s because it looks like Sumo!” And it did, the big stuffed Saint Bernard toy looked just like their pet.

Chuckling, Connor picked up a smaller yellow Labrador Retriever and held it up, “What about this one?”

Cole giggled and pointed his little finger at Connor who was holding the toy next to his face, “It looks like you!” Connor pulled a funny face to match the puppy, with his tongue hanging out and everything.

* * *

 Cole’s sweet giggles faded to nothing as the vision did as well. Hank was left standing in the same spot, staring at Connor who had his back to Hank still. Letting a few tears fall from his eyes, Hank walked up behind Connor and wrapped his arms around his waist. Pulling Connor back against him, Hank let his head drop forward onto Connor’s shoulder.

Placing the dog back exactly where it was, Connor asked, “What’s wrong?” He could hear Hank’s sniffles and as much as it hurt him to know Hank was in pain, being in his arms was a feeling of relief he couldn’t describe.

  
Hank took a shaky deep breath as he held Connor tighter, “Stay, just… stay…” When he felt Connor’s hands close around his, he let his eyes close and felt the sharpness of the pain start to dull into a bearable ache that settled in what was left of his soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter made me sad. I am sorry.


	12. Growing Closer and Realizations

Spending more time together was enjoyable when emotions didn’t come up. Hank and Connor often found themselves texting during the day or spending time together on Hank’s couch at night. One night at work, Connor’s phone vibrated on his desk while he was finishing up some paperwork and planning appointments for the next day. With his eyes still focused on his computer screen, Connor picked up his phone and answered it, “Hello?”

Hank’s gruff voice would usually sound harsh to anyone else but to Connor, it was soothing and warm, “Hey, you at work? Want to come over when you’re done?” And worrying… it wasn’t unusual for Hank to ask Connor to come over but it was unusual for him to sound so upset. Connor could hear Hank heavily sigh, he could picture Hank anxiously rubbing the back of his neck. He knew Hank would be pacing from the couch to the kitchen sick especially when he answered, “Been a rough day.”

Connor wanted to be there for Hank, he had already started to pack up his things before he got his sentence out, “I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

“Don’t rush, I’m alright.” Hank cleared his throat, if Connor was with him, the blush on his face would have been embarrassing, “…I could just use seeing your face.”

Fighting heat of his own crawling up his cheeks at the admittance of affection, Connor finished up their phone call before sticking his head into his bosses office and asking to head home early. Thankfully for him, Mr. Santarpio was in a good mood and had no problem letting him leave a few minutes earlier than usual. 

He took a taxi over to Hank’s and as he watched the night skyline of a mid-October Detroit pass by his window, he let his mind wander to the way things could have been; would he have graduated? Gotten some 9-5 job? Met a guy his age? Had that ‘meet my parent’ awkward dinner?

Instead, here he was. In a taxi, going to see his … Hank… that was years older than him and he had a job that seemed temporary at best. Things definitely were not how Connor would have imagined they would be but he was unsure if he would change them.

Connor knocked on Hank’s door but didn’t have to wait longer than thirty seconds before the door swung open and he felt Hank’s strong arms wrap around him. It’s not that Hank was unaffectionate… but this hug seemed so out of nowhere, it worried Connor, “Are you okay?” He brought his arms around Hank, squeezing him and feeling his breath every time his back moved. 

Hank bought his hands around Connor’s small body and held him close to his body. After a deep breath through his nose, Hank tried to let go of some of his stress, “Just a hard shift.” A hard shift was right, it was obvious that he already smelt like alcohol. 

Connor chose to ignore it until they were sitting on the couch together and Hank grabbed his glass of whiskey and started to drink. Smoothly taking it out of his hand, Connor tried to bat away Hank’s grabbing hands and ignored his yells of, “Hey! What are you doing?”

Connor only kissed Hank’s cheek and placed the glass on the coffee table before sinking to his knees in front of him, “If you want it in ten minutes, you can have it.”

Trying not to immediately give in to the sin that sat before him, Hank tried to sit up straighter and talk sense to maybe himself or maybe Connor… he wasn’t quite sure, “You don’t have to do this. I mean we haven’t done anything since…” And they hadn’t. While they had been hanging out together, anything below the belt had been put on hold since the first time they had sex.

But Connor’s delicate fingers found Hank’s thighs before hooking his fingers in the waistband of his sweatpants before slowly pulling them off, “I want to. Please, let me help.”

Just the sight of Connor on his knees looking up at Hank with those big brown eyes was enough to make Hank’s now exposed cock rapidly fill out. It didn’t get any easier with his soft, warm lips teasing kisses up Hank’s bare thighs or when Connor softly nosed at his cock started to mouth at the thick base of it.

Hank could feel the air leave his chest as Connor’s velvet tongue slowly lick up towards his head. He let his head fall back against the couch as a moan escaped his lips, “Fuck.” When Connor sucked his head into his mouth, Hank’s hands easily found the back of his head but he didn’t push. He just let Connor set the pace and every slow drag of his lips was heaven. Every swirl of his tongue and hollowed out suck of his cheeks made Hank feel like he was going to implode and explode. 

Apparently, Connor paid Hank this slow, sweet attention for the promised ten minutes. He pulled off of Hank with a wet pop and asked, “So… do you want to finish or do you want the whiskey?”

At this point, Hank had been so distracted he’d completely forgotten about his untouched whiskey glass but fuck that didn’t matter, “Come on, don’t tease.”

Connor took Hank back into his mouth with a new sense of determination and it didn’t take long for Hank to come down Connor’s throat with a gruff moan, his fingers tightening in Connor’s brown hair. 

Letting Hank’s softening cock fall from his mouth, Connor continued to kiss him before moving up to sit on the couch next to him but not before downing the whiskey so Hank couldn’t drink it. Back on the couch, poor Hank was trying to catch his breath so Connor asked, “Are you okay?”

Hank chuckled and pulled his sweatpants back on, “You just sucked an old man’s brain out through his dick. Give me a second.” Resting his head on Hank’s shoulder, Connor softly smiled and listened while Hank semi-awkwardly asked, “Do you… need anything?”

“No, I just wanted to do this for you.” And that was the truth; he didn’t do that to get something in return, he wanted to distract Hank and make him happy.

Hank smirked at Connor as his playful blue eyes sparkled, “Come on, you sure?” Reaching over, he rubbed the heel of his hand into Connor’s hard cock.

Despite the jolt of pleasure that ran up his spine, Connor kissed the side of Hank’s neck and reassured him, “I’m sure, old men need to rest.” In reality, Connor just didn’t want Hank to see his prosthetic, he didn’t want Hank to see his residual or any part of him that may not have been seen as good enough.

After a while of enjoying each other’s company, Hank finally opened up about what had him so stressed earlier, “There was a homicide today and the crime scene was rough to begin with but back at the station. There’s this detective, Gavin, and we got into it. There were a few choice words and we got into it. After that, there was another homicide call. A mother killed her daughter.” He shook his head in disgust and took a cleansing breath, “I can’t think about it anymore. I think we need some dinner and poor Sumo needs some attention.”

When Hank got up to go to the kitchen, Connor called Sumo over to him. As the big dog came trotting over with his favorite rope toy and Hank looked for something to cook for dinner, he called into the living room, “Do you want to stay here tonight or go back to Jericho?”

Panic instantly hit Connor in the chest. He couldn’t share a bed with Hank, not with his leg. Calling back, he tried to come up with a reasonable excuse, “I’ll go back to Jericho if you don’t mind, I have work in the morning.”

Hank yelled back, “Of course.” his tone deceived his words, it was obvious he was disappointed. It seemed just when they were getting somewhere something always happened that held them back.

Some days together are great… some days… are not. Hank has never seen Connor naked or without his leg and while that’s not everything in a relationship (especially not at his age) it was starting to get on his nerves. 

One day while they were together after another long day of work, slow kisses started to become more intense and hands started to roam. Connor’s nimble fingers unbuttoned Hank’s jeans but when Hank began to return the favor, Connor stopped him and whispered, “Hank…”

Not exactly getting the hint, Hank didn’t stop so Connor had to grab his hands harder and speak up, “Stop for a second!” His self-consciousness and panic taking control of the situation where they had no place to.

Thankfully, Hank stopped and pulled away enough to look at Connor with a worried look on his face, “What’s wrong?”

Frowning, Connor fidgeted and nervously put a hand on his right thigh, “I… my leg.”

Hank propped himself up on his elbow so he could look at Connor. From where they were laying together on the bed, Hank could see all of Connor’s clothed body and from what he could tell there was absolutely nothing wrong with it so he had to ask, “What about it?”

Connor frowned and pouted, trying to sound sure and definite in how he felt, “I hate it.”

Wondering hands couldn’t stop themselves from touching Connor’s leg as his sweet words tried to desperately describe to him how he looked, “You’re gorgeous.”

But again, Connor moved away from him and said, “Stop.” Very quickly, their night was taking turns for the worst. 

Hank took Connor’s face into his hand and softly stroked his thumb over the dusting of freckles that lived on Connor’s cheekbone, “I want to make you feel good, you’ve never let me… touch you or see you. I want to make you happy.” The silence he was met with was like a brick wall, it was all insecurities and pain. Hank tried to push past it and get back to a place where they could talk, “If you don’t want to its fine.”

However, Connor crawled further back into himself and crossed his arms, putting a physical barrier between him and Hank, “Clearly it’s not.”

Sighing, Hank sat up and ran his hands over his face, “I’m tired, I don’t want to fight with you.” And that was the end of it. Connor rolled away from Hank and the tension. They stayed together, sitting on the bed in deadly silence. 

It didn’t compare to the pleasant silence in Jericho one night when everyone was out and Connor was carrying his basket of clean laundry back to his room when he heard what sounded like sobs coming from behind a closed door. 

Being thoroughly confused after thinking he was alone, Connor put his laundry down and located the source of the noise… North’s bedroom. He gently knocked on her door and called, “North?”

It was unsurprising when he heard her angrily yell, “Go away!” Back at him but the sadness and anguish in her voice made Connor know that going away wasn’t a choice. 

He paused with one hand on the doorknob, “I’m opening the door! Cover yourself if you’re indecent.” He turned the knob which thankfully was unlocked since she also assumed that nobody was home. 

As Connor walked into the room, what he saw broke his heart; North was sitting on the floor with her back against her bed, her knees pulled against her chest as her tears streamed down her face. He walked over to her despite her telling him to fuck off; sitting next to North, Connor wrapped her arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. 

Eventually, she calmed down enough for Connor to ask what happened but her answer spurred on another tidal wave of tears, “One date. I wanted to go on one date! And I just can’t! I was forced into… a job and a life that I couldn’t cope with and now I can’t even be in a relationship. I haven’t fucking gotten laid in years! … I was a prostitute and I worked for this horrible man… now… I can’t go on a date with a guy I really like…”

Connor just listened and took North’s hand in his, supportively squeezing it and resting his head on hers, “You didn’t deserve that.” However, after a minute a thought struck him, “Know what? You should go on that date.”

North sadly shook her head, “It’s too late, I told him I’d meet him at seven thirty.”

Glancing at his phone, Connor jumped up, “It’s only seven! Come on, tell him you’ll be ten minutes late. Jump into a shower.” He helped North to her feet and ushered her out of the room. 

Five minutes later, North came back with her hair wrapped in a towel and she was dressed in jeans and a nice blouse. As she put her make up on, Connor worked on blow drying her long red hair. They had her ready to go in fifteen minutes and standing by the front door. North hugged Connor tightly and unexpectedly kissed his cheek before shyly smiling at him, “Thank you so much.”

He returned her smile and tightly squeezed her hand to comfort her, “Go have fun.” With the door closed behind North, Connor went to get his laundry and returned to his room. Sitting on his bed, Connor removed his prosthetic and looked at his residual limb and tried to accept that this wasn’t going to change so if he didn’t want to ruin things with Hank, he needed to learn to love himself.

A few days later, Hank was busy at work filling out reports when he got a phone call from Officer Robert Lewis, Tina Chen’s partner, “Hey Hank, can you swing by Santarpiro’s law office? There’s been a homicide.”

The panic that overwhelmed Hank was so consuming, he’s surprised that he was able to get his keys and drive there without killing himself or somewhere else. Throwing his car in park, Hank walked up to the first officer he saw, which was Gavin Reed. Not the most desirable person but he needed information, “What happened?”

Gavin who didn’t understand why Hank was so panicked, nonchalantly explained, “Some guy showed up and started yelling at Santarpio. He was an old client with a grudge. Pulled a gun on Santarpio but the old guy is a better shot.”

Okay, great. “What about the receptionist?” Hank held his breath hoping and praying to whatever sick god listening that Connor was okay.

Gavin gestured over his shoulder towards an ambulance, “He’s over there. Tried to stop it, he’s the one who called the police.”

Connor was okay. Thank God, he’s okay. Walking over to the ambulance as fast as he could without running, Hank finally saw Connor and he couldn’t stop himself from scooping Connor up into his arms and holding him like his life depended on it, “Connor! Oh god… are you okay?”

Pulling away, he held Connor at arm’s length trying to judge the look on his face. It was shaken but ultimately relieved to see Hank’s familiar face. 

Connor silently let Hank lead him to his own cruiser, calmly reassuring him when Connor asked what was happening with his boss. With Connor safely in the passenger seat of his car, Hank tried to offer him a confident smile, “Just stay here, okay? I’ll be back in a few.”

After talking with a few officers, it was decided that this was self-defense and Mr. Santarpio wouldn’t have any charges brought against him. As promised, Hank was back in his car within ten minutes. Immediately, Connor latched onto his hand and barely let Hank move enough to start driving home. On their way home, they talked about what happened but stopped when Connor’s voice started to break. 

As soon as they were inside Hank’s house, they shared a bone-crushing hug and the tears finally fell from his eyes, “I was so scared…”

Hank’s large hands soothingly rubbed slow circles on his shaking back as he spoke calmly in Connor’s ear, “I know but I’m here now, I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you.” After a moment, Hank pulled away and held Connor’s tear-stained face in his hands. As he looked at the big brown eyes staring back at him, it hit him how much he truly cared about Connor. It was terrifying and intense and something he never thought he’d feel again. With all the care in the world, Hank brushed their lips together and whispered, “You’re safe now, that’s all that matters.”

Eventually, their tears and emotions fizzled out and they returned to the routine of Hank cooking them something to eat while Connor played with Sumo and kept Hank company. 

After they had eaten, Connor excused himself to go to the bathroom but it didn’t take him long to return to the couch. On this night, it was Connor who started things. It wasn’t long until his lips found Hank’s neck and warm hands were on his thin hips. When they were both thoroughly turned on, Connor pulled away but not for good this time. He pecked Hank once more on the lips and asked, “Could you give me a few minutes?”

Completely confused, Hank still nodded and of course went along with whatever Connor had planned, “Yeah, of course. I’ll um…take care of Sumo.”

Standing up, Connor went into the bedroom where he started to get naked and took a shuddering deep breath before removing his prosthetic. The familiar relief of taking it off was short lived and replaced with the anxiety of what Hank is going to think of him. 

Crawling onto the middle of Hank’s bed, he tried to make himself comfortable but it was hard when your self-consciousness was all consuming. Before he lost his will, Connor yelled, “Hank, come here please!”

The horribly long moments before Hank walked into the bedroom made Connor want to vomit but it wasn’t as bad as Hank’s eyes finally looking at his bare body stretched out on the bed. There’s no way he was good enough. He’s ugly. He’s too skinny. He’s horrible. Not good enough… not for Hank. This was a horrible idea. What the hell was he thinking? This was so damn—

“You’re so perfect.” Hank’s voice, now much closer, snapped him out of his spiraling anxiety. Hank’s blue eyes were everywhere but his hands stayed still until he asked, “Can I touch you?”

Connor nodded against the pillows, “Please, before I change my mind.” He closed his eyes as he felt the bed dip followed by a warm hand on his left calf.

Hank's hand stayed steady and firm on his calf but his eyes continued to dance over his skin, trying to take in as much as they could; Connor had just given him a beautiful gift and he didn't intend on wasting it. Connor's smooth sloped down into his ribs, his stomach turned into gentle hipbones that where the perfect spots to lavish him with kisses. His left leg was entangled in the sheets but his right thigh was exposed, either way, it didn't matter because no matter what he was perfect. 

As soothing as he could, Hank moved onto touching Connor’s right thigh, “I’m right here, Con.” When he heard Connor hiss in pain, he made sure to be even more careful, “Sensitive?”

Nodding, Connor explained, “It doesn’t fit great so it kind of hurts.” Thankfully, Hank knew Connor enough to move on and capture his lips in a lustful kiss while teasingly jerking him off. 

After a few languid strokes, Hank started to rub Connor’s rim while his other hand was busy searching through his bedside drawer for the lube. 

Connor was eustatically grinding his hips down and moaning into Hank’s mouth causing the older man to chuckle and pull away for a second, “Alright, hang on for a second.” He took the two seconds of calm to spread lube over his fingers and pressed one into Connor, relishing in the sweet moan he got in return.

With three fingers in him, Hank rolled on a condom and wrapped his arms around Connor. With the person who was suddenly his whole world in his arms, Hank pushed into Connor’s wet, tight heat.

Connor moaned and arched his back into Hank’s touch, giving Hank the hottest show he’s ever seen in his life. Every drag of his hips was heaven for both of them; it was slow and steady until it was way too much to deal with.  
Connor started to squirm as his nails dug into the soft flesh of Hank’s back. It had been so long since anybody had touched him this way that he was already so overwhelmed; Hank’s thick cock was stretching him so perfectly and his big hands snaked under his hips to pull him closer.

For a moment, Connor forgot about his residual. He forgot about his amputation. All he could think about was the grind of their hips together. All he could think about was Hank’s sweet words in his ear. 

Hank had slowed down from the fast-paced thrusts to a slower rhythm to let Connor catch his breath and try to calm down. However, after a minute Connor started to meet Hank’s hips and whine. Teasingly, Hank asked, “You want more again?” When Connor nodded with those cute little flushed cheeks, Hank doubled his efforts and fucked him harder, “I got you. You’re so perfect. So fucking perfect.”

As soon as Connor felt Hank’s hand wrap around his leaking cock he knew this was going to be over very soon. He barely managed to stutter out, “Hank, I can’t…. I’m going to come. Please, don’t stop.”

With only a few more thrusts, Connor painted his stomach with come and just that sight alone was enough to have Hank following him. Letting himself slip out of Connor, Hank left only to grab a towel before quickly returning and cleaning them and getting comfortable in bed again. Laying on his back, he held Connor close against his chest, he took the opportunity to appreciate Connor’s warm naked body. 

Tracing abstract shapes on Connor’s soft skin with his fingertips, Hank let himself relax into the mattress and broke the silence after a few minutes together, “Why does it hurt so much? I mean I know people who have prosthetics and they have no problems.”

Thankfully the blanket was covering him now but he explained anyway, “After the accident and my dad died, I had nobody and no money so I couldn't pay for health insurance, student loans, home loans, bills, and I just didn’t have any money for all the surgeries and physical therapy and a highly developed prosthetic. Not even that but when I lost weight it got worse and I don’t have enough clean liners and it just gets irritated and sore and I just feel so weak.”

Hank couldn’t stand to hear that, “Will you let me try and help you, please? I hate seeing you in so much pain.” He needed to do something, there were so many options. There was no reason for Connor to suffer, not anymore. 

After thinking for a long time, he agreed but on one condition, “If I get my therapy. You get yours. No more alcohol. No more seven bottles in the kitchen, one in the living room, in the bathroom, the one I’m staring at, the one that’s in your car. You deserve to feel better too. Grief consoling and AA meetings.”

Hank sighed knowing there was no way out of it. He needed to stop drinking and get help no matter how badly it was going to suck, especially if it meant it was going to get Connor help too, “Fine. You need physical therapy and grief counseling too.”

Connor kissed him and let his eyes close, happy that he and Hank were finally sharing a bed together. It was more comforting and brought him more safety and happiness than anything had in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? :)


	13. Healing Hurts

Hank was already feeling the effects of cutting back on alcohol; he went from drinking almost constantly throughout the day to trying to limit himself to only two or three drinks only at night. Connor helped him and that’s truly who he was doing it for, he wanted to make Connor happy and he promised he’d try but as he sat in his car outside of the AA meeting place, he realized he couldn’t do this. He had every excuse he could think of working for him, “I can’t go in there. I’m a cop.”

“I’m too old to stop.”

“I’ll get too sick.”

“I don’t deserve to be clean.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“Connor doesn’t actually care about me.”

“I can’t do this.”

His phone vibrated in his pocket, pulling it out he saw the encouraging text from Connor,

**Connor : 7:32 PM**

‘You can do this’

As he smiled to himself, Hank was reminded how lucky he was to have Connor in his life, “Smart little fucker.”

He climbed out of his car and walked toward the community center, the light snow flurry that had started to fall within the last twenty minutes gathered on his shoulders and in his grey hair. Tugging his jacket tighter around his torso, he took one more deep breath of icy air before entering the building. It took him a moment before finding the right room but when he did, all expectations he had were destroyed.

Instead of what he’s seen in movies of criminals and homeless people, everyone was just… normal. Taking their seats in the plain plastic chairs that were placed in a circle around the room was a young mother and her six-month-old baby, a middle-aged man in a nice suit who clearly just came from an office job, an elderly man who looked like somebody’s grandfather, a teenage boy with his headphones up so loud he was sure to damage his hearing.

A delicate hand snapped him out of his thoughts. Turning his head, Hank was faced with a small old woman with a kind face and a soft smile, “Hello, my name is Beth.”

Politely shaking her outstretched hand, he introduced himself, “Hank.” His light blue eyes still wandered around the room trying to size up the strangers and figure out just how this night was going to go.

Nobody else said anything to him as he took an empty seat and kept his eyes trained on his hands. The chairperson, a middle-aged woman named Bonnie started off the meeting with the usual greeting, “Hello everyone, I’m Bonnie. I’m a recovering alcoholic. I would like to welcome you to the Friday evening AA meeting. We would like to give a special welcome to new attendees and have you introduce yourself.” She gestured to Hank and gave him an encouraging smile.

Hank rubbed his palms on the front of his jeans and stood up, glancing around the room before speaking, “I’m Hank, this is my first meeting. My… partner… and I decided that attending meetings would be a good step in me getting sober.”

The seven other people in the room nodded and replied with, “Thanks, Hank.” After, he sat back down and waited while the chairperson started to speak again.

“Alcoholics Anonymous is a fellowship of men and women who share their experience, strength and hope with each other that they may solve their common problem and help others to recover from alcoholism. The only requirement for membership is a desire to stop drinking. There are no dues or fees for A.A. membership; we are self-supporting through our own contributions. A.A. is not allied with any sect, denomination, politics, organization or institution; does not wish to engage in any controversy; neither endorses nor opposes any causes. Our primary purpose is to stay sober and help other alcoholics to achieve sobriety." She cleared her throat and changed her tone to a more comfortable, familiar one, “Would anyone like to share?”

Back at Jericho, Connor was holding Alice’s purple backpack and her little hand as they walked out to the awaiting moving van that was parked outside. Alice looked up at him with big, sad eyes and whispered, “Can we still draw together?”

Squeezing her hand, Connor beamed down at her and tried to offer some comfort, “Of course. You can come to visit me or I’ll come and visit you guys.”

Everyone was gathered outside waiting for Alice and Connor to make their way over. When they were in front of everybody, Alice let go of Connor’s hand and waited for him to kneel down before tightly hugging him, “I’m going to miss you.”

Pushing back his tears and sniffling, Connor wrapped her in a warm hug, “I’m going to miss you too, kiddo.” As Alive clung to him, he looked up at Kara and Luther who were also saying their goodbyes to everyone else in Jericho. They had finally saved up enough to move out into their own apartment and as excited as they all were, it was definitely difficult to move away from the family they had created.

When Alice let go of Connor to say goodbye to everyone else, Kara smiled at Connor and hugged him before pulling away and holding his face the way a mother would. She sweetly kissed his cheek and smiled at him, “You’re a good person, Connor. I hope you find your peace.”

With his tears still threatening to spill over, Connor pulled her into a tight hug and whispered back, “I’m glad you’ve found yours.” The rest of their goodbye was rushed as not to drag out the sadness. After the moving truck pulled away and started its journey to Lakeville, Michigan.

Back inside, everyone went their own way, either to help clean the now empty room, cook dinner, set up the table, or clean because they were going to have a guest for dinner; Hank was going to come over to eat and stay the night with Connor.

With Hank taking up one of the empty chairs and Sumo making his rounds at the table, everyone started to eat in silence until North looked up from her plate to where Hank was trying to eat but instead just pushing the food around on his plate with a shaking hand. With snark in her voice, she asked, “What’s your issue, old man?”

Sassing back, Hank grouched at her, “I’m detoxing, bitch.” The last part had no real bite to it, only retaliation.

With realization crossing her face, she nodded and turned back down toward her food, “Oh… good for you…” The guilt was obvious in her voice even though it was clear Hank had forgiven her.

After dinner, Hank and Connor retired to Connor’s room while Sumo stayed in the kitchen and helped clean up. Hank was laying on Connor’s bed with a cool cloth pressed on his forehead and his eyes closed while Connor nervously paced from wall to wall.

Cracking an eye, Hank looked at his boyfriend and grunted, “You okay?” He had gotten used to the ball of nerves that was Connor but still, the pacing wasn’t completely normal.

“I have a P.T appointment tomorrow.”

Hank smiled at him from where his head was trying to rest on the pillows, “That’s great.” But when he saw the upset face Connor sent his way, he changed his tone with a furrow of his brow, “…Or not... why isn’t that great?”

Rubbing his neck and picking up his pacing, Connor started his strange explanation, “Because I’ve only had three P.T appointments since I lost my leg and I don’t want anyone else to see me without it and I don’t feel like I need the help even though I know I do and Cole—”

At the mention of his son’s name, Hank took the cloth off his head and sat up thoroughly confused, “Wait, slow down. What does Cole have to do with you getting physical therapy?”

Still in distress, Connor tried to explain, “I don’t deserve it! He deserves it. He should still be alive, he should be—.”

Standing up, Hank took his boyfriend’s shoulders into his hands, “Alright, I’m stopping this right now.” He spoke surely and with confidence, “Yes, I wish Cole was still here but that does not mean you need to suffer.” Without another word, Hank tightly wrapped his arms around Connor and held him close before asking, “Do you want me to come with you tomorrow?”

Connor shook his head and clutched tighter onto Hank, “Yes. No. Yes… no… I don’t know.” Indecisive and anxious was just how he was going to be living his life for a while.

Hank, being used to being the messy one, offered a solution, “Okay well how about I’ll bring you and if you want me there then I’ll be there?”

Connor nodded against his shoulder and just let himself he held and comforted until his eyes started to feel heavy and Hank led him to the bed.

The next morning, he awoke to a hand shaking his shoulder and Hank’s voice gently rousing him, “Come on, you have P.T soon.”

Rolling over so his face was pressed into the pillow, effectively muffling his voice Connor whined, “Don’t make me go.”

But Hank patiently nudged him along, “You’ll never get better if you don’t go.” Which funny enough, was exactly what Connor had said to Hank about going to AA meetings. It took a fair about of back and forth and arguments but eventually, they were both dressed and in Hank’s car, on the way to the physical therapist's office.

With Hank, as promised, waiting outside in the car, Connor made his way up to the correct office and took a deep breath before checking in and quickly being brought into the therapist's room.

The therapist, a larger, sweet woman named Rose, professionally shook his hand and started to ask him questions about his medical history before getting down to the hard stuff. When she asked him to take off his jeans and replace it with a medical gown and also remove his prosthetic so she could examine him, Connor could feel his heart pounding in his throat.

Her hands were professional but still managed to be warm and kind as she inspected his stump and commented, “Lots of scar tissue here.” And made notes on the particular sore spots and how weak his muscles truly were.

As much as he hated people touching him, he braved the exam and waited for the stress to stop pumping through him, making his hands shake and sweat with each second that ticked by. Finally just as the tears were starting to build in his eyes and he was going to ask for a break, the examination was over and they started to talk about their new plan for him.

About an hour and a half later, Connor was closing the door to Hank’s car and breathing out a sigh of relief and exhaling, “I don’t want to do that again."

But when he felt Hank press a kiss to the side of his head, his shoulders sagged forward and the tension left his face. Hank smiled into Connor’s now soft hair where it had a slight curl to it, “I’m still proud of you.”

Gesturing to the bag that sat at his feet, Connor pulled on his seatbelt while Hank started up the car. He started to explain the plan for the future, “I have a few more appointments then we are going to talk about getting a different prosthetic. Until then, I have a prescription for some pain medications and clean liners. But Hank… I need to get my health insurance sorted out… I don’t have the money for this.”

Hank loyally took his hand but shook his head, “Don’t worry about that right now. We’ll get you all sorted out, okay?” Connor numbly nodded in response, leaving the car in an uncomfortable state of silence and Hank to fiddle with the steering wheel until he spoke up again, “I have a meeting later today.”

Eventually, they came to a stop in front of Jericho, Connor leaned over to kiss Hank but that’s when he noticed his older boyfriend’s shakings hands. Reaching out to steady them, he asked, “Are you okay?”

Hank was clearly thankful for Connor’s cold but calm hands closed around his as another wave of nausea rolled through him, “I’ve only had one drink in the last 24 hours. I know you’re trying… I should be too.” For Hank who used to stay buzzed constantly to numb the pain and get through the day, one drink was enough to give him some really rough withdrawal symptoms.  
Still holding the tremors still, Connor brought them to his lips and tried to soothe lovingly what he physically could not.

Two weeks later as they sat on Hank’s couch, talking about money and trying to balance Connor’s rent and bills when Hank had a realization, “I was thinking if you wanted to… you could always move in with me.” But then the words he said started to dawn on him. With his nerves getting the best of him, he started to ramble, “I mean, it’s not like you take up a lot of room and Sumo likes you and I guess I could tolerate you the couple extra hours a day I don’t see you and you’re good for my drinking and I want to help you with your P.T and—”

Connor’s eyes were full of thankful tears as he threw his arms around Hank’s neck and hugged him tightly, cutting off his rambling, “Hank, please. I’d love to.” They spent so much time together already that moving in together felt natural and unforced; the convenience and assistance that came with it was just a bonus.

It didn’t take more than a few hours to move Connor’s few bags of clothes and other possessions into Hank’s house. His goodbye from the Jericho crew was less tear-filled than Kara, Luther, and Alice’s; his goodbye was more one of gratitude and happiness.

Once Hank and Connor had gotten everything settled and they were finishing putting Connor’s clothes in the recently emptied drawers of Hank’s dresser, Connor snaked his arms around Hank’s middle and let his devious hands wander into Hank’s waistband as he whispered into his ear, “Do we still get to christen the rooms of the house?”

Hank smirked and turned around so he could hold Connor’s slender hips and kiss the soft, warm skin of his neck and lowly mumble, “I think we could arrange something.”

As their lips met each other, Connor couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped him especially as Hank’s body pressed against his until they were both lying flat against the bed. Hank pulled away just enough to whisper against Connor’s lips, “Do you want to do it or do you want me to?”

Knowing what his older boyfriend was referring to, Connor shook his head and replied, “I’ll do it.” Before starting to strip his clothes and take off his prosthetic once he was naked. Fully baring his skin, he chanced a look up a Hank who was staring down at him, clad in just his boxers and lust-blown blue eyes.

With Hank staring down at him, Connor started to get antsy and squirmed where he was lounging against the pillows and comforter, “Come on, Hank. Hurry up!”

With a devilish smirk on his face, Hank let his eyes travel and linger over the expanses of Connor’s soft, pale skin before settling on his increasingly desperate face. He couldn’t believe just how damn lucky he was, an old washed-up guy like him managed to land somebody as amazing as Connor… it was a miracle.

Not wanting to wait another minute, he crawled over his boyfriend and covered his delicate skin with loving, slow kisses. With every touch he could feel Connor melting under him, his breathy moans and wanting hands pushed Hank further into the role of protecting him; he needed to protect Connor and make him feel good so that is exactly what he planned on doing.

He slowly worked two fingers into Connor, usually, he needed three or four before he was ready but they didn’t get the chance to get that far before Hank’s phone rang. Hearing his work tone, Hank started to withdraw his fingers from Connor’s slick hole but Connor was quick to pout, “Ignore it.”

Now standing and trying to find his phone, Hank chuckled, “People are dying, Con.” He tried to ignore the fact that he was butt-ass naked and his gorgeous boyfriend was staring at him and slowly pumping his cock.

Still pouting at being left leaking, hard, and alone, Connor sassed Hank without stopping the motions of his hand, “No, people are already dead.”

Picking up his phone, Hank answered, “Anderson.” He was trying to focus on the phone call but god, it was hard when Connor had his own fingers buried in himself. He couldn’t even focus on Ben Collins’ voice saying whatever he was saying on the other end of the phone.

That got exponentially more difficult when Connor brushed his own prostate, a loud moan spilled out of his lips as his hips lifted off the bed, his back gracefully arching. Hank panicked and covered the speaker of the phone and walked out of the room just in time to head Ben laugh, “Oh shit, Anderson, did I interrupt something?”

Hank felt his cheeks flush so he grouched to avoid the embarrassment, “No! What do you need?”

Still thinking he was a comedian, Ben continued to push Hank’s buttons, “You sure? An old guy like you needs to get it while you can.” After laughing at his own joke for another minute, he got down to business, “Alright… sorry. There was a triple homicide on 7th. Fowler wants you there.”

Of course, he could never just have a nice day without dead bodies. Running a hand over his face, he could already feel his erection flagging with the stress of the phone call, “Fuck… fine.”

With another snort of laughter, Ben sounded almost sorry but Hank knew he really wasn’t, “Sorry for cutting your activities short.”

Eventually, Hank conceded that this was indeed pretty funny and tried to stifle his own chuckle in his reply, “Piss off asshole.” Quickly hanging up the phone he walked back into the bedroom where Connor was still spread out on the bed with one hand at the base of his cock, trying to keep himself hard.

Accepting his fate, Hank started to look for his boxers and spoke soothingly and apologetically to Connor, “Con… I have to go to work but I’ll be quick and then when I come home I promise I’ll fuck you, okay?”

Hank tried to ignore the sad look on Connor’s face but it was hard when he rolled over and teasingly stuck his ass up and wiggled it, trying to taunt Hank into coming back to bed. It worked just long enough for Hank to kneel on the bed and spread Connor’s perfectly round ass, exposing his pretty pink, slick hole before licking him twice and standing up.

When he pulled away, he soothed Connor’s high pitched moan with one more kiss before standing to get dressed for work, “I won’t be late.”

…He was late. Like late, very late. When Hank finally got home it was 12:33 AM. The house was dark and Sumo was waiting for him by the front door. With his sore knees and back protesting, he leaned down to give his dog a quick hello before retreating into his bedroom to find Connor already curled up and fast asleep in a pair of Hank’s boxers. Smiling to himself, Hank covered Connor with their blanket and silently changed into his pajamas.

He walked back into the kitchen to try and find enough food to make a sandwich but what he found was a bowl of leftover (healthy, vegetable riddled) pasta in the fridge that Connor must have made earlier. After eating it and totally not admitting that it was pretty good, he showered off the stress and smell of the job before climbing into bed with Connor. As he looked down at Connor’s sleeping face, he brought his hand up to softly brush through his hair before whispering, “Hey, Con. Are you asleep?” With no answer, Hank kissed his forehead and tried to control his wavering and nervous voice as he admitted, “…I love you.”

The next day, Hank spent the day at home waiting for Connor to get home from work. He was cooking them dinner when Connor came home and changed. He could hear him coming down the hall by the clack of his crutches that he started to use around the house to reduce the pain he felt from his ill-fitting prosthetic.

Hank was stirring their dinner when he heard Connor call, “Hank, can you come here for a minute?” He put the spoon down and walked into the living room to see Connor laying on his back on the floor doing the exercises the physical therapist gave him to practice. Hank was worried for about twenty seconds until Connor asked, “Help me stretch?”

After a few minutes of helping Connor gently stretch, the alarm went off for their dinner so Hank kissed him and called over his shoulder, “It’s looking a lot better, Con."

Once dinner was over, Connor was busy cleaning the dishes and trying to lean on his crutches when one of the plates slipped out of his hands and shattered on the tile floor. Sumo, who was underfoot, quickly ran into the living room to his bed, out of terror.

Hank came rushing into the kitchen in time to see Connor trying and failing to pick up the shards of shattered glass. With reassuring hands on his shoulders, Hank stopped him, leading him to a chair, “Just sit down.”

Connor had his head in his hands while he listened to Hank clean up his mess, a recurring theme in his life. He wanted to shrug off Hank’s hand when it squeezed his shoulder, he wanted to block his ears when Hank said, “It’s not a big deal, it was just an accident.”

When Sumo slowly walked back into the kitchen Hank tried to cheer Connor up by smiling, “See? Sumo’s not even upset.”

But Connor was. His tears streamed down his face as his frustration came out in sobs. He couldn’t do anything right, he couldn’t even wash the dishes. Hank tried to help him, “Con… it’s just a plate…”

But he didn’t want to hear that. It wasn’t just a plate. It was everything he couldn’t do. Everything that was wrong with him. Every single fucking thing he did wrong in his pathetic excuse of a life. Standing up, Connor collected his crutches and yelled, “No, it’s not!” He retreated into their bedroom and slammed the door.

As soon as the loud slam was followed by a deafening silence that seemed to flood through the small house, Hank poured himself a full glass of whiskey and took a seat on the couch, knowing that tonight was just going to be one of the bad nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, I have mixed feelings about this chapter and it makes me anxious like all other things in my life but I hope it's part way decent!


	14. Imperfectly You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't super excited about this chapter but then I started writing and I actually really like how it turned out. Hopefully, it's enjoyable to read!

Another P.T appointment but this one was different, this one was going to be the start of Connor’s new life. Today was going to be the day he received his new correctly fitting prosthetic. The one that was custom built for him. The one he had been waiting weeks for. The one he insisted he didn’t need. The one he insisted was way too expensive. But fuck, he was so excited; he was going to walk without pain, without a limp. His quality of life was going to drastically improve. 

Outside of the physical therapy center, Connor asked Hank to come in with him for the first time. This was a big step for him and he wanted Hank to be there for him. He also appreciated the extra support and comfort his boyfriend gave him. 

In the office, Rose showed both Connor and Hank how to correctly wash, care for, and maintain his residual limb, which no longer had any skin issues before showing them how to roll on the liner and making sure they understood how this new prosthetic was attached with vacuum suction. 

After the liner was on, Connor stood and put his weight on it a few time until he could no longer hear the air leaving the prosthetic. To remove it, all Connor had to do was press a button on the inside of his thigh and the air would leave the socket so he could pull his stump out. 

The prosthetic was sleek, black and grey with fully functioning joints that moved effortlessly. With Hank trying to act calm and collected but obviously anxious for Connor, and Rose’s supportive, consistent hands by his sides, Connor took a few uneasy steps forward. It felt strange after years of being unsteady to finally be secure. 

When his brown eyes looked up to Hank, Hank gave him a thumbs up and a wink. It was obvious that he was proud from the tone of his voice and the sparkle in his blue eyes as he reassured Connor, “Looking good, Con.”

Connor walked a few laps of the room, getting comfortable with what was going to become a new part of him when Rose said what he had been waiting to hear for years, “I would say if you take it slow and keep coming for a few more P.T appointments you should be running again in a few months.”

Nothing could have stopped the tears from streaming down Connor’s face or Hank from wrapping him in his arms. This was the start of not only Connor’s life but their life together. 

Constantly, Connor stretched, did his exercises, went to P.T, and went on slow walks with Hank and Sumo for weeks.   
Just as Connor got better, so did Hank. He rarely drank anymore and if he did it was met with the silent treatment from Connor, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth and a heavy feeling in his chest. Once he got the cold shoulder, the glass of whiskey didn’t last long, usually only getting a mouthful gone before it disappeared down the sink.

One night, Connor was out walking Sumo while Hank tried to relax after a long day at work. He was stressed and the familiar itch had been building all day, he needed to drink but instead, he heard the front door click open followed by Sumo’s claws on the hardwood floor, Connor’s keys and jacket being hung up, and the door closing again. 

When his boyfriend walked into the kitchen, Hank kept himself busy searching through the cabinets, looking for nothing in particular besides maybe his will to stay sober, “Have a nice walk?”

Hank usually loved Connor’s cheerful voice; it made him smile when he was sad, it gave him a reason to get up in the reason, it made him want to be a better person but right now… right now, Hank didn’t want to hear it. Still, Connor answered, “Yeah. Sumo tried to make a chew toy out of a squirrel but he had fun. What have you been up to?”

Finally facing Connor, Hank pushed his grey hair out of his face and sighed in defeat, “Honestly? Fighting the urge to get wasted.” There was no way around it, no avoiding it. It was the truth and as much as Hank hated it admit it, Connor deserved to know the truth. 

What was even worse than Connor’s damn positive voice were his caring eyes. He walked up to Hank and touched his strong upper arms, his brown eyes staring desperately up at Hank’s exhausted face, “Why?” But he was greeted with what could only be described as a petulant three toned grunt that sounded like, ‘I don’t know’. Trying again, he pushed further, “Is anything bothering you?” He wanted to help Hank, he loved—

“No!” Connor’s inner thoughts were cut off by Hank’s harsh shout before Hank pushed past him and walked to the other side of the kitchen, seemingly desperate to get away from him. 

When Hank opened the fridge and started to look through it, trying not to look Connor in the eye; Connor just tried to get his attention by pleading, “Hank…”

Slamming the fridge, Hank threw his hands up in the air and shouted in frustration, “Fuck, I don’t know! I just need a fucking drink, alright?!”

His worry starting to turn into anger at his boyfriend’s outburst, “Don’t yell at me! I was just trying to help you!”

Hank knew that. He knew that Connor just wanted to help but everything was just too much. It was too much and he couldn’t handle it. The old Hank and ways of the past slipped through the cracks as he yelled, “Well, you don’t!”

In the deadly silence, you could hear Connor’s heart shatter. All he wanted was to help Hank the way he had helped him. Somberly nodding, Connor started to walk away from Hank toward the front door but was followed by the older man, who immediately felt horrible and guilty about what he had said. 

By the front door, Connor grabbed his jacket and angrily tugged it on, turning to Hank and growling, “Have fun getting drunk.”

Hank tried to stop him one last time, “Connor—.” 

But his attempt was futile as Connor didn’t even bother with another look bother mumbling, “Asshole.” And slammed the door behind him. Once he was outside, he didn’t stop walking until the streets became comfortingly familiar and finally, he was greeted by the safe haven of the red bricks of Jericho.

He knocked once on the door and once on the right window and waited while he knew North was looking through the peephole. When she finally opened the door, she asked with a look of concern, “Hey, everything okay?”

No, it was mid-November, he was freezing, on the verge of tears, and exhausted. All he could manage to say instead was, “Mind if I stay the night?”

North stepped aside to let Connor in without a second guess, “Come on in.” After all, she wasn’t about to leave him out in the cold. 

Back at home, Hank paced the tiles of his kitchen in anger and frustration. The desire to get drunk burnt so deep in his chest caught it fire in his throat and wouldn’t let go, the embers sparked and flickered as they popped and crackled. He couldn’t take it anymore. He knew that somewhere in the fucking house there was a bottle of whiskey hiding, he just had to find it and he was determined to do so. 

While he was tearing apart the house, he ended up in the bedroom where he found one of Connor’s stupid fuzzy socks under their bed. It was an ugly purple and orange polka-dotted thing that Hank teased him about but Connor liked his fuzzy socks and he had about a million mismatched pairs that ended up everywhere and Sumo always destroyed them and God…he loves Connor so fucking much. 

Instead of finding the bottle, Hank grabbed his car keys and headed to an AA meeting he knew would be running. At the meeting when asked if anybody wanted to share, Hank, for the first time spoke up, “Tonight, my partner and I got into a fight. It started with me not explaining things because I was just frustrated and we both started yelling and I said something that was completely uncalled for. Before he left, he said, ‘Have fun getting drunk.’ Now… I know it was just his way of getting under my skin and trying to get me to wake up but fuck… did it work a little too well…” He ran his hands his hair and sighed, leaning back in his metal folding chair. Just the memories of their fight gave Hank a horrible feeling that he was going to lose Connor. 

Even though other members giving advice was frowned upon, it was often helpful and to Hank it definitely was. A man even older than Hank chuckled and offered some words of sage advice, “I remember getting into a fight with my wife over this shit every day. The stuff we used to say to each other still hurts. It’s the reason we split. Give it until tomorrow and apologize. Don’t let one fight ruin your whole relationship.”

Hank nodded in understanding and let those words and their meaning set in. Back at home, Hank spent his sleepless, restless night cleaning the dishes, washing the floors, organizing their closet, washing the sheets, vacuuming Sumo’s dog hair off the couch and carpets. Three cups of coffee, a spotless house, and only a few hours of sleep later, Hank was anxious to get Connor back in his arms. 

Around nine in the morning, when Hank knew Connor would be awake and if they were together, sleepily sipping on his first cup of coffee with his hair sticking up in every direction. He picked up his phone and called Connor. It rang three times and with every ring, Hank’s worry grew that Connor wasn’t going to answer but thankfully he eventually heard the sleepy answer of, “…Hello?”

Hank let go of the breath he was holding in his chest as he sighed, “Hey, Con.” After their greeting, silence returned and Hank asked what he was most concerned about, “Please tell me you’re somewhere safe.”

“Jericho.” It was clear in Connor’s voice that things between them were still strained and for good reason, Hank said a horribly hurtful thing and he understood why Connor was upset.

Hank paced in the living room and prayed that he could fix things, “Good… good. Can I come to get you, please?”

After a few beats of quiet, Connor finally answered, “…Yes.” They said goodbye and hung up the phone before Connor pulled himself out of bed and walked into the Jericho kitchen where Simon, Markus, North, Josh, and now a new house member, Chloe, were all eating breakfast. He said hello and poured himself a cup of coffee before sitting down at the table, completely and utterly exhausted.

Markus looked across the table with worry and concern clear across his face, “Hey, so… rough night?”

Downing half his coffee in a few gulps and burning his throat in the process, Connor sighed, “Hank and I got into a fight… I just needed to get out of the house for a little. Thanks for letting me stay here.”

From every person at the table, besides Chloe who just nodded silently, they all said, “Of course, anytime!”

By the time they were done with breakfast, Hank was outside so Connor gave everyone a hug and said goodbye and nice to meet you to Chloe before walking out to his boyfriend’s awaiting car. As he climbed inside, the relief of seeing Hank and the guilt of the things he said to him became too much to handle. Connor couldn’t stop himself from throwing his arms around Hank’s neck and mumbling against his warm skin, “I’m so sorry.”

Hank could have cried he was so happy that Connor was in his arms again, he tightly held him as close to his body as he could with the gear shift in the way. Hank kissed his head and apologized between kisses, “I shouldn’t have said that to you, I didn’t mean it. You saved me, Con. I’m so sorry I hurt you.” Before Connor could worry about it any longer, Hank assured him, “And I didn’t drink last night, I went to a meeting. No more drinking, I promise. I don’t want it anymore. I want to make you happy, Connor.”

Finally, Connor pulled away so Hank could see those pretty big, brown eyes before gently brushing their lips together and whispering, “I love you.”

They were a mess. Both of them were just a big mess of emotions and almost tears and anxiety and relief but their hands were solid and warm interlaced in each other’s, Hank’s warm chuckle of, “I love you too.” was real in the otherwise quiet car. The moment wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs.

That night they were lying in bed together, Hank on his back and Connor curled up next to him with his head on Hank’s chest. With Sumo softly snoring at their feet, Hank peacefully stroked Connor’s hair while they listened to the noises of the house and the wind blowing outside it. Breaking the silence, he brought up what was bothering him, “Please don’t leave anymore.”

Connor nodded against him and snuggled closer, “No more leaving.” 

Hank kissed Connor’s forehead one more time before either of them fell asleep and whispered into the dark room, “No leaving.”

Connor had been grateful for the clean house and since that fight, things had been very good and peaceful between them. Also, everything was great with Connor taking things slow with P.T but after a few weeks, he was sick of it. One day while he was out on one of his walks which now included ten to fifteen minutes of short bursts of jogging, he decided that it just wasn’t enough. He needed to run and run he did. 

Once he started he just couldn’t stop, one foot in front of the other. His footsteps were quick and consistent, steady and sure. The old feeling of euphoria flooded through his veins and he could never imagine stopping again. Staring straight ahead, Connor didn’t realize just how long he’d been running or how far he’d gone until his lungs started to burn and he didn’t feel like he could hold himself up any longer.

Slowing to a stop, Connor finally felt the horrible feeling of nausea overwhelm him. He doubled over and wretched, vomiting into the sewer drain and trying not to pass out. After wiping his mouth and taking a few shaky breaths, Connor started to limp his sorry ass home.

He was only walking for about five minutes before a cop car pulled up next to him and rolled down the passenger window. A cop with short grey hair leaned over and asked, “Hey! You Connor?”

Fighting the urge to be uncomfortable and wanting to flee, Connor tried to remember that his boyfriend was also a cop, “Yeah?”

The police officer smiled at him and introduced himself, “Ben Collins. Hank is looking for you.” He watched Connor pull his phone out of his zipped sweatpants pocket and see that is was dead. Ben unlocked the doors and gestured to Connor, “Hop in, I’ll give you a ride.”

Despite the fact that he was sweaty and smelt like bile, Connor was in pain from pushing himself too hard so he climbed into the cruiser and tried not to sit in an uncomfortable silence so he asked, “So… you work with Hank?”

Driving down the street, Ben nodded, “Yeah, have been for a few years. So you guys are… together? He talks an awful lot about you. Sounds like a damn high schooler.” Together they laughed at Hank gushing over Connor and how amazing he is until Connor went pale.

Immediately he grabbed at the door handle and said with desperation, “Pull over.” It only took a few seconds but it felt like minutes before Connor was able to lean out of the car and throw up nothing but stomach acid onto the street. 

When he sat back in his seat and closed the door, Ben asked, “You good?” After Connor nodded, Ben started back off down the street. Luckily they weren’t far from Hank’s house so it wasn’t long before Ben pulled up out front and blipped the siren.

Hank quickly came rushing out of the house, clearly panicking while Ben helped Connor out of the cruiser. Taking Connor’s other arm, Hank draped it around his shoulder and held his waist, frustratingly shaking his head, “What were you thinking? You know you shouldn’t be out running like that.”

Connor just leaned on Hank while Hank looked at Ben with an exhausted expression, “Thanks, man. I owe you.”

After making sure that Hank had Connor, Ben walked back to the driver’s side of the cruiser and dismissed him, “No problem. I was patrolling anyway. See you tomorrow. Nice to meet you, Connor.”

Hank helped Connor’s physically exhausted body inside and into the bathroom where he started to strip off Connor’s sweat-soaked but now chilled clothes. While Connor showered, Hank went to the kitchen to make him toast with peanut butter and a tall glass of water with a side of ibuprofen. He grabbed Connor’s socks and pajamas and his favorite blanket out of their bedroom and brought them out to the living room. 

After bringing Connor his pajamas, eventually, they both ended up together on the couch. As Connor managed his toast, Hank sighed and watched the person he loved try to recover after hurting himself the way he had, “You need to slow down. You can’t burn yourself out like that. What if I started to run with you? There’s no way you can push yourself too hard with my fat ass slowing you down.”

Connor smiled and kissed Hank’s cheek, “I’d like that.”

Three days later, they went out for a light jog after Connor had time to rest and recover. They started with walking before picking up a light jog. Needless to say by the time they got home, Hank was an exhausted bag of human jelly, “You’re taking turns with me and Sumo. I can’t do that shit every day. I can’t believe you used to do that for fun.”

As much as Connor appreciated Hank caring so much about him, he didn’t need to be treated like a child. Still, he kissed Hank’s cheek and said, “You know you don’t have to babysit me, right? Nothing bad is going to happen to me.”

...Ha. Famous last words...


	15. Red Lights

It was a quiet Saturday, not too many calls but plenty of paperwork for a Lieutenant to occupy himself with. While he was sitting at his desk in the bullpen on, Hank remembered some stuff they needed for the house so he texted Connor, knowing he had the day off from work.

**Hank : 6:42 PM**

‘Hey, we need some stuff at the store. Mind running out? I’m going to be late tonight. Take the car. Keys are on the counter.’

**Connor : 6:45 PM**

‘Of course :) .’

After making sure Sumo had his dinner and got let out into the backyard to do his business, Connor pulled on his sneakers and one of Hank’s old hoodies before heading out of the house. He was a pretty good driver, a little nervous ever since the accident but he had been driving with Hank a few times and after not driving for three years, his confidence was starting to grow.

One of Hank’s jazz albums softly played through the speakers as he rolled down the dark roads. Occasionally there was a stoplight or two but no other cars, it was an unusually quiet night. It was nice to get out of the house, it was peaceful and—

It wasn’t a flashback.

This was real.

What…

He couldn’t open his eyes…

They’re too heavy.

Something sticky and wet was dripping down his face.

His breathing sounded…

Fuck… it was painful…

His fingers weren’t holding the steering wheel anymore, they were by his side. Slowly, he started to wiggle them but they weren’t his. He needed… help. What happened? Fuck… he needed help. His voice felt like he had to force it out of his throat into the night, “…H-Hank…”

The jazz song was barely crackling through the speaker when Connor finally pried his eyes open he knew why; the front of the car was crushed but so was the top of it and the whole passenger side.

His vision was starting to fade but he knew he had to fight unconsciousness long enough to find his phone and dial 911. Before the chilling darkness overtook him he heard, “911, what’s your emergency? …Hello? Do you need police, fire, or rescue? …Hello…?”

When the police finally arrived, it was Chris Miller and Gavin Reed. They arrived shortly after two ambulances and a firetruck had. Jumping out of the cruiser, Gavin immediately noticed that the smashed and destroyed car looked very familiar, as did the license plate. Gavin finally made the connection and his stomach twisted, “Oh shit, that’s Anderson’s car.”

But Chris knew that Hank was working so it couldn’t be him, he asked, “He have somebody at home?”

They pulled out their flashlights and started to walk over to where the firemen were trying to pull a body out of Hank’s car. Gavin said, “Yeah. That boyfriend, right?” They both tried not to panic, as they rushed over to the EMTs and asked, “Hey, we got a name?”

Replying, an older fireman who had found Connor’s wallet spoke up, “Connor Stern.” He then gestured to the other car that was across the intersection and crashed head-on into a light pole, “Guy over there is Jacob Sullivan, he’s wasted.”

Chris ran a hand over his face especially when he saw just how banged up Connor was. Thankfully, Gavin had his head on a little straighter and had something resembling a plan, “I’ll deal with the drunk. Call Hank?”

Watching from afar with scared eyes, Chris pulled his phone out of pocket and called Hank. The few seconds he had to wait for the Lieutenant to pick up the phone were agonizing, knowing he’d have to break the news to him when he finally answered. When he heard Hank pick up the phone, he desperately tried to control his voice and sound calm, “Hey, where are you?”

Poor Hank had no idea what happened, “Leaving a scene near 29th street.” He sounded so okay, so normal. Chris couldn’t destroy him but he had to.

Thankfully, that crime scene was pretty close to the accident so Chris, as evenly and calmly as he possibly could, told Hank, “Alright, I need you to not freak out. He’s okay but Connor got into a car accident.”

From where he was sitting in his cruiser, Hank could feel his entire world collapse around him. How was this happening? How the fuck was this happening again? He barely managed to force out the question of, “Where?”

Hank drove faster than he had in his entire life while his mind spiraled out of control, his thoughts screaming, ‘He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead.’

His drive was a blur until he saw the flashing lights and what was left of his car. It looked horrible, there was no way Connor was alright. He needed to find out. He needed to see him. He needed to feel his pulse run hot and real under his fingers.

Rushing towards the ambulance, Hank’s vision narrowed to the familiar black sneakers at the end of the stretcher. His feet ran up to the stretcher on their own accord until he felt a hand grab his arm. All he knew at that moment was whoever was touching him was just slowing him down from seeing Connor. He shoved that hand off of him, it just happened to belong to Chris, and kept running toward his boyfriend.

Chris followed him trying to calmly explain, “A drunk driver ran the red and hit him. He rolled the car a few times.” But it was drowned out by the shards of glass and images of just what could have happened to Connor.

Hank wasted no time jumping into the ambulance but he was stopped by an EMT, “Lieutenant, you can’t be in here.”  
He didn’t care long enough to wait longer than one second before rushing past the EMT and getting to a now half-conscious Connor’s side. Hank was torn between being relieved that he could see Connor and protect him now and being heartbroken that he was in so much pain.

Hank gently took Connor’s unbandaged hand in his and brought his own hand up to hold his bloody and sore face.  
When he did, Connor pried his eyes open and whined, “Hank…” his voice full of pain and desperation.

Hank would have done anything to switch places with Connor, to take away his pain. All he could do was wipe away his tears and reassure him that everything was okay, “I’m here, I’m right here.” Connor looked just like Cole. He fucking looked just like him...

But Connor was delirious and his thoughts were all over the place, “I’m so sorry… I’m sorry… your car…” his mumbled rambling brought Hank back to reality.

The very last thing on Hank’s mind was his goddamn car. As carefully as he could, he tried to wipe the blood away from Connor’s eyes while pushing back his own tears, “Oh god, Con. I don’t give a shit about that old thing. You’re okay, that’s all that matters.”

The EMT, now understanding Hank and Connor’s relationship, put a warm hand on Hank’s shoulder and said, “You can stay, Lieutenant. We just need to get to his side.”

Hank slowly nodded and moved to the chair in the back of the ambulance but there was no way in hell he was letting Connor out of his sight.

Before they left, Chris stuck his head into the ambulance and grabbed the keys to Hank’s cruiser and wished them luck. They very quickly headed off to the hospital after that but it didn’t take long for Connor to deteriorate. His concussion made his head swim with nausea until he vomited. Thankfully, the EMT seemed to see that coming from a mile away and held an emesis bag up to his mouth before he could vomit on himself.

Hank could only look on in fear as his love was in pain with two I.V’s in his arms, a brace on his left arm, cuts, and bruises covering him, and now an oxygen mask back over his face. While the EMT took his blood pressure again, Hank leaned forward and softly kissed Connor’s forehead, “It’s going to be alright, I’ll be there. No leaving, I promised you.”

As soon as they arrived at the hospital, Connor was triaged and rushed off for scans while Hank was left to anxiously wait for news in the spotless waiting room.

After what seemed like forever of nervously tapping his foot, pacing, and arguing with his inner thoughts, a nurse finally came in to update him. Connor had a concussion, a couple of broken ribs, a broken arm, and a slow bleed in his liver that thankfully should heal on its own without surgery. Other than that, he just had a few bruises and cuts that now had stitches and sterile bandages covering them.

Hank’s relief was so sudden and intense he thought a dam a broken in his chest. He let the nurse lead him to the ICU room where Connor was lying motionless in bed. Just as the nurse told him, Connor was asleep in the bed just not how he is when they spend peaceful nights together; his face wasn’t mushed against his pillow, his hair wasn’t messed up, his limbs weren’t tangled in the sheets. He was just… still. And quiet and… there. But he was alive. Thank god he was alive.

Hank willed his feet to walk towards the bed and drag a chair over before eventually taking Connor’s limp hand in his and whispering, “Hi, Con…” Choking back his tears, Hank tried not to think about how close they came to not being in this position, how close he was to losing him, “…You’re okay. I’m so glad you’re okay, I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

He let a few tears fall, refusing to completely fall apart when he felt Connor start to squirm and mumble something that sounded like Hank’s name. Denying him the possibility of starting to get upset, Hank hushed up and kissed his cheek, “Go back to sleep, Con. I’m here and I love you.”

He remembered his harsh cries of sobbing over Cole's lifeless body that he loved him, that he was there. He remembered begging his son to just wake up. He remembered blaming Connor for that night. Fucking Christ, he wanted a drink. How did his life end up here? Nothing made sense. Nothing. There was no way that any of this happened for a reason, they had to all just be floating around in a constant wind storm of fucked up cause-and-effect fuckery.

Connor's hand squeezing his brought him out of his crisis and back to the small, sterile room of the ICU. Free will or determination, it didn't matter. He was here and Connor needed him to be strong and not fall apart, not now at least.

Connor had closed his eyes and drifted back off to sleep and Hank eventually followed until he was woken up a few hours later by Connor’s moans and groans of pain and distress. His brown eyes had tears flowing from them and as hard as Hank tried, he couldn’t calm him so he quickly pressed the call button for the nurse.

The nurse quickly gave him something for the pain and carted him off for another scan after reassuring Hank, “He’s going to be hurting for a while, we’re going to re-scan his stomach to check on the bleeding.”

While Connor was unfortunately out of his sight, Hank got a call from Fowler who, despite his usual stress and grumpiness, nervously asked how Connor was. Hank scrubbed a hand over his face and scratched at his beard, “He’s okay I think, just in rough shape.”

Jeff’s voice crackled through the phone from the hospital’s poor quality, “Thank god he’s okay. We’re going to charge the guy who hit him with DUI and reckless endangerment. Look… take some time off and think about it. Just focus on getting him better, don’t worry about work.”

While he didn’t want to mention the ‘R’ word but it was on the horizon and with Connor… injured… he needed to think about it eventually because he wasn’t exactly a spring chicken anymore.

Connor slowly got better over three days until the bleeding on his liver stopped and he felt stable enough to return home. Unfortunately, he wasn’t mentally stable. There were just too many feelings, old and new, preventing him from truly healing from this accident. He couldn’t take Sumo out for his walks, go for runs, help Hank cook, he could barely smile or joke but worse than any of that, he stopped sleeping in bed with Hank.

Every lonely, cold night felt it was pulling them further apart until Hank couldn’t take one more second not having Connor in bed with him. He decided to bring in the big guns. The next morning, Hank kissed Connor’s head and called over his shoulder, “I’m going out for a little. I’ll be back later, love you.”

He waited until he heard Connor’s melancholy answer of, “Love you too.” Before he left the house in their rental car to go pick up a special little girl.

By the time Hank got back home, he was smiling from ear to ear and eager to get back to Connor. He was just so damn excited to get his boyfriend back. He opened his front door just in time for Alice to bounce through it and leap onto the couch before throwing her arms around Connor, squealing and giggling the whole time.

He looked so surprised and shocked to see her that it took a minute before he could react and hug her back, a huge smile spreading over his face, “Hey, kiddo. What are you doing here?!”

Hank smiled at the two of them and dropped Alice’s pink backpack by the couch, “I thought maybe a sleepover would be good for everyone.” When Connor looked at him with those big grateful eyes, Hank knew that he made the right decision; Connor needed this.

Their night was full of old board games and laughter and ordering pizza; which Hank and Alice took over the task of doing. While the tried to figure out what they wanted, Connor called from the laundry room, “There better be at least one vegetable on that pizza!”

From where they were looking over the take-out menu, Hank and Alice shared a look and burst into laughter because they knew there wasn’t going to be one vegetable in sight no matter what they got.

That night, they both tucked Alice into bed with Sumo laying at her feet before they headed off to their room together. Hank laid on his back with Connor’s head on his chest and those big brown eyes looking up at him.

Connor sounded so ashamed as he diverted his eyes away from Hank’s, “I’m sorry I’ve been so horrible to you.”

But Hank’s hands were soft and sure and sound around him and nothing could have hurt him at that moment, “Don’t be, I know this has been hard for you. I’ll always be here though.”

The next day was tiring keeping up with Alice but hell, if it wasn’t one of the best days they had in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I don't know how I feel about this chapter. I tried and like ahhhh-- I hope it's okay and reads well but I'm a mess human so who knows.


	16. Making Our Getaway

Cole’s grave was just outside of Detroit in a beautiful cemetery. It was next to a small lake that sparkled in the early summer sun, the grass was green, lush, and well cared for. The trees in the park were healthy and stood tall, the wildflowers that bloomed there were gorgeous and picturesque. It was peaceful and serene, a perfect eternal resting place. One Sunday, Hank, Connor, and Sumo all took a trip to visit Cole. After cleaning up his headstone and placing new flowers down, they laid down their blanket and sat down, relaxing under the warm sunshine. 

It had been a few months since the accident, not only was Connor fully healed from his injuries but his prosthesis and residual felt great. He had put on a few pounds of muscle thanks to his running and one or two thanks to Hank getting him into the horrible habit of eating Chicken Feed. He felt and looked healthy and was happy, there was just one thing on his mind, “So…”

Hank just chuckled from where he had his arm wrapped around Connor’s shoulders, “No, whatever you’re going to ask. No.” He knew his boyfriend well enough that anytime he heard that voice, he knew he wanted something that usually spelled trouble.

But still, Connor pressed on, “I saw a letter in the mail today and I got curious so… I opened it.”

Hank deadpanned, “That’s a felony.”

With wide, curious eyes, Connor continued, “It’s for Michigan’s Annual Law Enforcement banquet.”

Rolling his eyes, Hank groaned with the flashbacks of too-tight suits and too-fancy food and ‘too-happy-to-be-here’ people, “Con, you don’t want to go to that. It’s a bunch of bureaucrats prancing around. Besides, I’m past my prime. Most of the higher ups wanted me gone years ago.”

Connor pushed on and gently kissed Hank’s cheek, feeling his grey stubble on his lips, “Yeah but you’re not washed up. You just solved that huge case and you look great and I bet none of those bureaucrats have a young boyfriend on their arm.”

Now that he mulled over… all the people who called him washed up and old and a drunk, he could just imagine the look on their face when he walked in with a young, gorgeous guy like Connor. Thoughtfully, he hummed, “Would be nice to show you off…”

Connor beamed and tightly threw his arms around Hank, squeezing and thanking him. Hank chuckled and rolled his eyes, “Spoiled.” But he knew exactly whose fault it was that Connor was so spoiled. 

After Hank’s will was broken a little more, they spent more time with Cole, enjoying the nice weather when Hank laid his head on Connor’s shoulder and whispered, “I miss him.” After a beat of silence, Hank choked out, “Con, I want to be with you and I would do anything I could to make you happy but I can’t have another kid. I just can’t do it again.”

“I would never ask you to. Honestly, I don’t know if I’m cut out to have kids. I mean, I love Alice and I love spending time with her but raising a child is something completely different.” And it was. Maybe when he was younger, Connor thought he could be a father but now that he was older, it wasn’t something he could picture for himself. 

Hank’s self-esteem was still weighing on him. What if he was still holding Connor back? What if he was ruining his life? He was so young and Hank… wasn’t, “But I’m so much older than you and I’m going to be like ancient by the time you should be getting married and I just don’t want your life to be fucked—”

But Connor pressed their lips together to shut Hank up. When he pulled away, he was sure and steadfast in his words, there was not an ounce of doubt in him, “My life was fucked. Now, my life is amazing. I have you and Sumo and a job and I feel good. I have a home. I’m happy. We’re both healthy. There is nothing I want more than this.” Hank surged forward and kissed him back, his doubt starting to ebb away. 

About a month later, they were getting ready for the banquet. Hank was in the shower after one last workout in the gym. He’d been spending a lot of time there over the past couple months and had lost a good amount of fat that he’d saved up over the years, his sobriety helped this task. During his gym trips, his muscles had started to show through his clothes again and Connor couldn’t keep his hands off him. 

Stepping out of the shower, Hank dried himself off and wrapped his towel around his waist before stepping over to the sink where he grabbed his razor and started to clean up his beard. With his beard now trimmed down to a stubble-level and the edges were neat and tidy. Next, he pulled his still damp hair back into a ponytail and went into the bedroom to get dressed while Connor took his turn in the shower. 

Hank was patiently waiting on the couch and trying to keep Sumo’s hair off his black tux, bowtie and all. Shit… the things he did for Connor. His suit was tight and kind of itchy and his shoes were tight; he’d much rather have been in his boxers, relaxing with nowhere to go but it was all worth it when Connor came out of the bedroom. 

He was beyond words. So far beyond common, trivial words. He was stunning. His rich, dark navy blue suit hugged his beautiful lithe but strong body, especially where is smoothed down over his chest and stomach, tapering at his small waist before leading down to those hips and thighs. 

Connor blushed under Hank’s intense stare and shyly held out his arms, “Well? Do I look presentable?”

Presentable? More like the most breathtaking person Hank had ever laid his eyes on. He stood up and slowly walked over to where his boyfriend was standing, his blue eyes never once leaving Connor’s immaculate face or body. He brought his hands up to hold Connor’s waist like he was just handed The Holy Grail, “You’re gorgeous.”

Hank waited to kiss him just long enough to see the light pink bush creep over Connor’s cheek and up to his ears. Their lips met slowly but they didn’t stay long, Hank’s strayed to Connor’s neck, drawing quiet moans out of him. 

They knew they needed to get going, they were already surpassing fashionably late but being pressed so beautifully close to each other, hearing their laughs and choked out moans fill the otherwise quiet air everything else became unimportant. Until Hank sucked a little too hard on the pale skin of Connor’s neck and the reality of where they had to go came flooding back to the younger man.

Connor pulled away from him and complained, “Hank! You’re going to leave a mark!” Petulantly, he wiped the excess saliva off his neck just to prove a point.

Hank chuckled, “Oh… oops.” And returned to Connor’s neck only this time, on the other side. After a moment he mumbled, “It’s not even noticeable…”

Know knowing he was marked, Connor slapped Hank’s upper arm and jumped away from him, huffing and rolling his eyes but he didn’t get far before he felt Hank pinch his ass. He let out an indignant squeal, “Stop it!” and tried to run away but was caught by strong, unyielding arms that held him close and picked him up. 

Connor kicked his feet that hung in the air above the floor while Hank showered him with kisses. Sumo was underfoot barking, wiggling, and trying to be part of the fun with his tail going a million miles an hour. After a moment, Hank placed Connor down so they could calm down Sumo and then finally, head out the door. 

At the banquet, it was safe to say everyone was surprised to see the Lieutenant there. It had been quite a few years since he’d attended, since before Cole’s death, but it was not an unwelcome surprise. They quickly found their department and said hello to everyone. Ben Collins greeted both of them with a handshake, “Hank, it’s good to see you here. Connor, good to see you again. You both look great.”

Hank greeted his old friend back with a firm hand on his shoulder, “Hey, Ben. How are you doing?”

Chris and his wife came over from where they were talking with some other officers, Chris’s wife, June said hello to Hank while Chris hugged Connor, “Hey, Connor. Nice to see you not in the back of an ambulance. How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you.” And it was the truth, he did feel better. Hell, he didn’t even feel this good before the accident. He was truly happy. 

After greeting their friends, Hank put his arm proudly around Connor’s waist and went to go find some old friends. The banquet was in a big hall in the middle of Detroit, everyone was in suits and ties, the women in elegant dresses that touched the floor and draped off their bodies. The lighting was bright but not overwhelming, everything was perfect. 

Hank happily introduced his boyfriend to everyone and wasn’t even jealous when a woman’s touch lingered on his arm, or a certain man or two let his eyes wander, he was just lucky. After making their rounds, they sat back down at their table where Ben, Chris, their wives, Gavin, Fowler and his wife, Tina, and her date were all sitting. When Hank and Connor sat back down, Ben asked Hank, “Can I get you a drink?”

But he shook his head and turned down the offer, “No, I’m good. I’ll take a water though.” Looking up, he found that every person at the table was staring at him in shock. It dawned on him that it was probably the first time in years it was the first time he turned down a drink. Suddenly, he was extremely uncomfortable just sitting there, clearing his throat he tried to joke, “Jesus, you’d think I just kicked a puppy.”

Fowler smiled that infuriatingly familiar smile and said, “Just… happy for you.”

He was now completely embarrassed and as he shook his head and stood up, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get the goddamn drinks myself.” With help from Ben’s wife, they brought back people’s drinks including Hank’s water and Connor’s beer. 

As they sat, they talked and ate stupid, fancy little food in between too-long speeches by boring people in positions of power. Finally, the speeches were over and the dancing had started but Hank resigned himself to his chair. 

It’s not that Connor necessarily wanted to dance but it would be nice. He pushed aside his disappointment until he felt a hand on his shoulder, looking up to see who it was, he saw a beautifully built, strong woman in an emerald green dress. It was Marsha Fowler, Captain Jeffery Fowler’s wife. She sweetly smiled at Hank and asked, “May I steal your date for a moment?”

He gestured to Connor and then back to her, “Of course, ma’am.” He smiled at Connor and squeezed his hand one more time under the table before Connor got up and followed Marsha off to the dance floor with her hand on his arm.

With the slow song playing, their hands found a respectful place on each other as they started to gently sway with the music. Connor, being careful not to step on Marsha’s feet, curiously asked, “Any reason why you wanted to dance with me?”

“I wanted to get my chance before the other women took theirs.” Then she devilishly smirked and pulled Connor a little closer, “Also… Jeffery and Hank don’t dance unless they’re jealous.”

Connor rocked them among the other dancing couples and chuckled, the corners of his brown eyes crinkling, “Good plan.”

They danced together for a song or two, it was hard to tell once they got talking but soon they were interrupted but another woman cutting in and asking if she could have a turn with Connor. Woman and woman, song after song, Connor danced around the floor occasionally making eye contact with Hank but mostly keeping his attention on his dance partners. 

The older women were all happy to be in the company of such a handsome, sweet young man while Hank was growing impatient just talking to their husbands about the ‘good old days’. Eventually, his resolve broke and he made his way over to Connor, placing a warm hand on his shoulder, effectively interrupting his time with his latest partner, “Excuse me, ma’am. I believe it’s my turn.”

Connor sighed in relief as soon as Hank’s familiar hands were on him. He collapsed against Hank’s strong chest and let himself be held as he heard Hank’s voice rumble in his chest, “Still having fun?” When Connor nodded against his chest, Hank kissed the top of his head and whispered, “You look so amazing.” 

Together they enjoyed their time together getting lost on the dance floor in the soft sway and dip of their bodies. It wasn’t too long later that Connor spoke up, “Hank? I’m starving, can we get Chicken Feed?”

Hank pulled away and looked at him with feigned shock, “Who are you and what have you done with Connor?”

Joking back, Connor said with a serious face, “I ate him.” Even though they had eaten and Connor enjoyed the healthy, good food, Hank could hear his boyfriend’s stomach rumbling even over the music.

He chuckled and kissed his forehead, “Come on, let’s go get some real food.” They stepped off the dance floor and walked back over to their table where they said their goodbyes to everyone. 

Eventually, Connor and Hank ended up in Hank’s new car across the street from Chicken Feed with delicious burgers and a large fry to share. Hank couldn’t keep his eyes off Connor, who now had his tie off and his top shirt buttons undone. He was happily munching on the last of his burger when Hank took his hand and squeezed it, “Hey, Con?” Connor looked at him with those perfect brown eyes and he continued, “I know things we were talking about kids and stuff a while ago—”

Connor interrupted him with a roll of his eyes and an exacerbated sigh because of course, they’re going through this again, “—Hank.”

“Just let me get this out, okay? Even if you don’t want kids, I want to be more to you. You’re everything to me and I couldn’t imagine my life without you. You know me, I’m not good with words or grand gestures or all that but I love you and that’s forever so… ” Hank reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the little black box he’d been carrying around for the past two months and nervously opened it, holding it out to Connor to show him the sparkling ring inside. He took a deep breath to get the courage before looking back into Connor’s tear-filled, elated eyes and asking, “…You in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the last chapter! Let me know what you thought! I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
